


In Defiance of the Cycle

by TransientPokemonMaster



Category: Enderal (Video Game)
Genre: (It's in the first chapter), (kinda), A Whole Lot of Introspection, AU, Action & Romance, Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Angst, Catharsis Ending, Drama, F/F, Fictober 2020, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Loss, Major character death - Freeform, Mutual Pining, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Alternating, Pining, Resurrection, Self-Doubt, Slow Burn, Swearing, The Veiled Woman knows all, Time Travel, We have to go back
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:41:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 32,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26825329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TransientPokemonMaster/pseuds/TransientPokemonMaster
Summary: The Prophetess sacrificed herself, that Vyn might have a second chance. But her death was not the end. A chance meeting with the Veiled Woman as her awareness fades leads to the Echo triggering one last time.With many truths revealed, Jianna, the Prophetess, awakens in Jespar's camp on the Sun Coast for a second time. With a second chance, armed with the knowledge of their previous attempt, she begins the struggle against the High Ones anew.
Relationships: Jespar Dal'Varek/Prophet | Prophetess, Prophet | Prophetess/Calia Sakaresh
Comments: 24
Kudos: 13





	1. Second Chances

**Author's Note:**

> Hi!!
> 
> So I've had this idea kicking around ever since I first beat Enderal, but I finally completed the Dreamflower ending the other day and I immediately dove into this and put down almost this entire chapter in one go. 
> 
> I haven't written anything in... months. So losing myself in something for once was nice ^.^ I won't guarantee regular updates since I have two other large fics on hold with a third perpetually on hiatus. But I'm hoping I'll find some regularity in my writing again with this, so we'll see :D
> 
> This story is kinda self-indulgent, but hey. That's what I do best :P
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

Blinding. 

It is the only descriptor for what the fleshless one masquerading as Jianna sees as the Beacon is destroyed. 

That explosion... the flash of light is enough to sear her memory for the precious few seconds she is still allowed to have it. In her last moments, she thinks of Calia, and how desperately the Prophetess prays for her survival. 

Above all else it is the one thing she hopes for.

The light goes beyond heat, beyond feeling, straight down to her bones where the pressure squeezes her relentlessly like water from clothes fresh from the wash. It threatens to grind her bones to powder, and unmake every last bit that makes the prophetess who she is. 

And perhaps it does.

It doesn't last long though. When it passes, her eyes are squeezed tightly shut, and the calm silence of the moment is broken by the chirping of a bird, and the comforting, dappled, droplets of rain splashing across her skin that had, only moments ago, burned like fire. Thunder rumbles in the distance as she forces her eyes open. Her heart beats madly in her chest as she beholds the storming, idyllic glade of her nightmares. 

Her habitual breath comes in rapid bursts that somehow make her lungs ache, and the ground rushes at her as her legs lose strength. Damp earth seeps in between linen fibers, and the soft squelch of mud meets her ears as she sinks slightly into the wet earth. 

Was this it then? She would be tormented by Jianna's father, even in death? 

Is this the fate of a Fleshless One? 

To be denied the comforting rest of death and the respite of the nonexistence from whence she'd come? Is this to be the final joke of the High Ones? Dooming one who has never existed to an eternity of torment at the hands of a nightmare from one who only longed for freedom? 

How long the Fleshless One kneels there, she isn't sure. She runs her fingers over the earth, digging deep grooves in the mud with broken, chipped nails as she feels the moist grit pile and clump beneath her cuticle, driving it deep into her nail bed. 

Even in her panic, Calia comes to mind again and again. She thinks of the even timber of her voice, almost hearing it like a gentle music in the back of her mind. 

She can almost feel her strong hands in hers again, the rough calluses formed by years of squeezing the leather wrappings of her greatsword in diligent, focused, training and devotion.

The memory of her bare, tightly muscled back beneath her Fleshless hands brings tears as she remembers how close they'd become. 

Nothing in Jianna's stolen memories could have prepared her for the way her heart soared at Calia's sparing touches, nor the ease with which she fought with her beloved at her side. The gentle calm that the devoted warrior brought to her normally troubled, angry mind as she unleashed the magic that swirled dangerously inside her brought her peace.. 

The fleshless one and Calia were much the same in that way. From the moment she'd awoken on that sandy shore, the waves lapping at her heels. She’d pushed herself up on unusually strong arms to find herself on Endralean ground, a quiet anger consuming her mind at the vaguest threat.

Even then, she'd felt an urge for blood, and a fury that could only be quenched by the deaths of those who threatened her. 

The glint of sunlight on a sword drawn in opposition. The twang of a bow string snapping taut on release. The roar of flame as it rushed forward to char yielding, false flesh. 

It all brought the same result. 

Rage. 

Rage that could only be quelled by blood. She'd gleefully cut down and burned asunder any who dared oppose her, and she'd done so with a smile on her face. She had hunted down those who fled and only felt the white hot anger fade as she stood over their dead, cowardly, lifeless corpse.

Now she can't help but wonder if she'd known anything except for that consuming hatred. Sure, she had laughed, cried, known joy, and felt the soothing calm of love's embrace. She'd known companionship and triumph, and the bitter flavor of defeat. 

But had she really? 

Had those feelings been anything more than an imitation of what humans, what Jianna, was supposed to feel? Did the High Ones know what those things felt like when they had imbued her imitation of life with the capacity for them? Or were they merely the closest approximations of ones who had once been human, but forgotten the truth of those emotions? 

She supposes she will never know. 

But even as the panic in her chest subsides, and the calm emptiness of acceptance comes over her, she can't imagine a more accurate representation of despair, and loss, and hope than she'd known in her final moments. 

The panic that makes her palms sweat, her heart race, and her vision blur as it clouds her mind feels real enough. The emptiness and exhaustion it's absence brings feels real enough as well, despite the state of her nonexistence. 

Finally, it's not so much an emotion as a feeling that brings her to her feet. 

Curiosity. 

Powerful and burning within her as the beacon had done seemingly moments before. It courses through her veins now. 

Why is she here? Where _is_ here? If she was never truly alive, then can this really be called death? Is this the afterlife? Does one who never existed still get to experience such a thing? 

She intends to find out. 

The memory of the field that had belonged to Jianna’s family is beautiful and foreboding as ever. But this time, it feels different. If she concentrates, she can feel an absence. In the past, it was filled by fear and trepidation, brought to her sleeping mind every time she visited it. The air had rung with it, vibrated at a frequency that tickled her dreamself with a million tiny fingers of anticipation and dread. 

A feeling that amplified a thousand times when brought face to face with the memory of Jianna's monstrous, abusive father. 

But this time? It was absent. Thankfully, blessedly absent, and she breathes a sigh of relief for the realization. Jianna's demon of a father had said that he would not return after the last time, and it seems he told the truth. 

Her feet carry her over stones and up the winding dirt path to the house, her gut twisting as she hopes against all hope that he hadn’t been lying. 

The relief is palpable as she reaches his chopping block to find only empty air, and she sighs thankfully. 

But then… if he is gone, and she has died… she wonders again, "what am I doing here?" She offers the muttered question to the peaceful glade, not knowing if she wants it to answer in kind.

Perhaps in answer, from the corner of her eye, she notices the polished white stones standing at the base of the porch. These had not been in previous dreams. 

For a moment, she can't help but wonder. Does it still count as a dream if she's just perished? 

She pushes the thought from her mind as she steps forward to examine the new additions. A half dozen steps brings her before the headstones. Each details a member of Jianna’s family, their names etched into the white stone. 

Her mother. Her sister. And her father.

The last holds her own name. Or rather, the name of the one she pretended to be.

Where the first three show early signs of age and weathering, hers is fresh and new, chiseled in the perfectly cut stone as though it were yesterday. Feeling for the loss of the person she imitated, the Prophetess reaches out a hand, letting her fingers drift over the grooves of the lettering carved there. 

The contact makes her feel light, and it takes her a moment to notice her feet have left the ground. As if carried by a gentle breeze, she finds herself floating up and steadily away from the porch of the house. Somewhere in the back of her mind, as she drifts over the large open field of her mind, she feels the last tickles of her gift, the Echo, trigger. 

For a moment, she expects an unwelcome and intrusive flash of sound and harsh vision, and she tightly shuts her eyes, hoping to block it out. 

But instead… it's her. 

Calia’s voice breaks through the quiet of the meadow, offering a peace to her heart that had been missing since they had parted ways beneath the Sun Temple.

_"A great philosopher once said that every change begins with a moment of lucidity._

__

__

_"In these moments a veil opens. One which normally shrouds all the unwelcome truths we are aware of, but we have buried deep within ourselves where we cannot see them._

_"It is only in these moments in which we can make a decision._

_"The decision to either act, or let the moment pass until the veil seals itself again and we once more are the slaves of our habits._

_"I don't believe in revolutions. They are too simple, too fiery, and they too often end with the opposite result of what was intended._

_"But neither am I a cynic who has lost all faith in the world._

_"Change _is_ possible, but it won't come as a big bang, but rather as a long path. One that will constantly confront us with obstacles. Obstacles we can either choose to overcome, or at which we choose to turn around and go back to being what we were. _

_"The sacrifice of the one who will be remembered as the Prophetess is proof that I am right._

_"Yes, some might see the downfall of Enderal as the triumph of the High Ones. But it wasn't. It was neither that, nor a triumph for mankind._

_"What we were granted, was a moment of lucidity. The chance to start our own walk down a long rocky path._

_"The High Ones exist _because_ we believe in them._

_"We, our egos, give them their power. And the more we listen to their words, the more we hate them, the more powerful they become. Indeed the Beacon, this ancient machine of unknown origin can destroy us._

_"But it can also free us from the High Ones once and for all._

_"If we use it right._

_"Rumours that the Arazeleans have started constructing a second Beacon, and the knowledge that this time we are aware of their nature, gives me hope that the woman I love has not died in vain._

_"And that we continue walking."_

Whether it is her private musings the Prophetess heard, her appeal to the Golden Queen, or something else, she isn’t sure. But hearing her voice as she ascends, the world of her dream steadily fading into a white fog, it gives her peace, and fills the Fleshless One with a gentle acceptance of her fate. 

If one person can do what needs to be done, it's Calia. 

With one last look at the house as it grows smaller in her vision, her habitual breath catches in her throat, and her vision narrows on the porch.

Like a black smear across her afterlife, the Veiled Woman leans against the railing, her head raised skyward, meeting the Fleshless One’s gaze. The pull is magnetic and in an instant, as Calia’s words fade, giving way to the quietly rumbling storm overhead, her world is forced back into crystal clear focus. 

Her mind, feeling only moments ago as if it were fading away, is suddenly sharp and aware once again, and she realizes that she is being rapidly pulled back toward the earth, and the mysterious woman. 

Her whole being feels as though it is held in a vice as she is brought to float before the Veiled Woman, her eyes examining her with a quiet curiosity. 

Jianna can’t speak, even her jaw feeling as though it is clamped shut by the woman's power. 

Finally, she whispers, “you believe your life is at an end.” A hum rose in her throat. “But if given the chance, knowing what you know now, I wonder. Would you go back? Do it all again, and make things right, in defiance of the cycle?” 

The pressure in the Prophetess’ jaw releases with a pop, and she works the joint to loosen the stiffness. "What are you talking about?” She's afraid.

"You wonder why I am here. What I mean." For a long moment, the Veiled Woman surveys her as a predator does a cornered prey animal before, finally, she speaks. “Though it has been an eternity, I too remember the way my choices haunted me.” Her hand rises, drawing back her hood to reveal short, boyishly cut, strawberry blonde hair. Peaking from beneath those loosely curling locks, ears that should have ended in narrow points poke out, blunted with ragged scars where the ears were cut to hide their shape. A desperate attempt to fit in by a young, rash, half-Aeterna girl. “But, where I walked one path, you have chosen the one I did not.” Her finger hooks into the top of the scarf that wraps her face, and she tugs it down with a gentle pull, revealing a face that makes the Prophetess’ eyes bulge in disbelief. 

Standing on the porch, holding her aloft with immense power, garbed in the black robes of the Veiled Woman, stands Jianna, staring up at herself. She continues, “our eventualities were so close, almost equal threads, separated by mere millimeters of probability due to several, simple differences.” 

Meeting her own eye is unnerving and leaves the Prophetess at a loss for words. Her mouth feels dry as her mind races. This is a dream of her dying mind. It has to be. There is no other explanation. 

From the porch, the Veiled Woman goes on. “Maya…" she pauses, a sad smile crossing her face before she corrects herself. " _Calia_ and I fled this world, leaving it to it’s fate. Because I, unlike you, was too much of a coward. I was too selfish to face my death when we could live our lives together.” She smiles bitterly, looking away. “If I had known how quickly her life would fade in the face of endless existence while I waited for the emergence of life…” She shook her head.

Even as she trails off, the Prophetess feels a twitch in her mind, and the Echo triggers again. This time it is as the Beacon exploding once more, more powerful than ever before. 

In just a moment her mind is filled, not with ghostly images of the past, but with perfect moving images of a future that, for her, would never be. They're like flashes of memory, each passing so quickly, she almost can't process them. 

…

* * *

…

_Her body broken, Jianna lies entombed in the chamber of the Pyrean's Beacon. Tealor has abandoned her to her death._

_Together, they only narrowly stopped Yuslan from destroying the High One. Ironic that they would try to save it when they'd come for its life. They did so that those from the next cycle could try again to fill their own Numinos with its essence._

_But Jianna's body is broken in the process, and she lies dying while Tealor leaves with the last of his strength to activate the Beacon. He believes that the sacrifice of humanity is a small price to pay for the destruction of the High Ones._

_Had her body been stronger, she would have stopped him._

_But instead she is dying._

_Until, like an angel, she appears._

_Calia, her face free of her tattoo, pours a potion down her throat, and even as the arcane fever rages through her body, she finds the power to mend her broken form._

_"Maya," Jianna whispers. "You came for me?"_

_"Always," Maya replies._

_Together, they flee, remembering the Starling City, and hoping against hope they can make it before the cleansing kills them. It's too late to do anything, but they can still have a life with one another in some way._

_Maya knows they will never survive to the next cycle. But maybe they can leave something behind to warn them and give them information to help them avoid Vyn's fate._

_They believe it is a chance worth taking._

_The only choice left available to them._

_..._

* * *

_…_

_Jianna and Maya teleport to Frostcliff Tavern. They hold hands tightly as they run through the night._

_There had been plans to bring the capsules to Ark, but the Temple's resources had already been stretched too thin to spare the expedition._

_And they'd been left to be buried in the snow._

_The pair sets out in a frantic race through the winter world even as a fire burns through their bodies. Above, the sky is grey with promised destruction, the Beacon, activated._

_Jianna helps Maya, nearly unconscious, her skin almost ash grey, into the Starling capsule. Her eyes are vacant as Jianna seals her in and watches her begin to ascend into the night._

_She turns to climb into her own Capsule._

_..._

* * *

_..._

_Landing on the outer dock and stumbling to Maya’s ship. Forcing the door open, Jianna holding her as her body falls limply out. Weeks spent helping her recover, feeding her in moments of weakness, and love gently made as they revel in one another._

_..._

* * *

_…_

_Day after day after day spent in isolation in a city of the dead amongst the stars._

_In the beginning, Maya is eager for purpose and she and Jianna spend much of their time discussing the future and the next cycle, and how to help mankind overcome the High Ones._

_There are snippets of conversation, flashing too fast to catch more than a few words._

_..._

* * *

_..._

_"Over here!" Maya points excitedly to a corner of the room they share._

_..._

* * *

_…_

_"Ow, fuck!" Jianna holds her hand steady as Maya casts a spell to heal a ragged hole in her palm, an errant bloody bit of Starling scrap at their feet._

_Maya laughs as Jianna squirms, “I_ told _you to leave it in.”_

_…_

* * *

_…_

_Maya, older now, over forty, shooting the Prophetess an empty glance. There is a loneliness in her eyes that she might have once been able to hide, but no longer._

_She's begun to be aware of her mortality. Dying here, quietly of old age, the last of humanity. It was never how she had imagined going. Maya had always assumed she would die in service and battle, the heat of life leaving her as she gripped her greatsword for the last time._

_Still, she tries to be helpful in their shared task of preserving the truth._

_But somewhere in the back of her mind, Jianna knows that Maya resents her for the choice she made to come here._

_..._

* * *

_…_

_Sitting atop a tower, her back to the Prophetess, Maya stares out across the endless expanse of sky before them. Grey streaks are evident in her black locks._

_An unfulfilled longing grips Jianna's heart, and tears sting her eyes as she turns to go inside._

_..._

* * *

_…_

_Night. The Prophetess lies on her back, staring up at the stars. Maya’s head rests on her chest as her fingers run through silver hair, the barest traces of black still evident among the shimmering strands. Maya’s older, shaky voice croaks slightly with disuse as she whispers to the stars, "I wish we'd never come here..."_

_..._

* * *

_…_

_Tears stream down an old woman's face, a woman Jianna barely recognizes now._

_She hears her own anguished voice. "I barely see you anymore! You spend your days locked in the western tower, and run away at the sight of me!"_

_"I can't look at you!" Maya’s wrinkly face quivers, the skin having long since lost its elasticity. Tracks of tears pour down her face, and her throat is raspy as though she hasn't spoken in months. "You haven't changed a day since the Beacon!" She falls to her knees, averting her gaze as she hugs herself tightly, rocking on knobby knees. Her eyes wince with pain for every repetition of the motion. "You're all I have, and you deserve more than _this_!" She gestures to herself, shaking her head, ratty silver wisps of hair hanging limp around her face. _

_There is unspoken disgust in that final word, a topic neither has touched in their long years, because there's no true solution._

_…_

* * *

_..._

_Darkness._

_Apologies are whispered back and forth as Jianna caresses wrinkled, dry, flesh that houses the woman she loves._

_Maya is starting to forget, and desperately spends as much time as possible with Jianna in hopes that she can help her remember._

_But it is no use, and age is finally taking its toll._

_In these final days at least, it has brought them together again._

_There is a press of lips that quiver against Jianna's, and the words that she longs to hear every day are spoken._

_"I love you."_

_"And I love you."_

_..._

* * *

_…_

_An elderly shell of Maya lies in a bed, staring silently over the endless blue._

_Her memory, and all that she was, is all but gone. Jianna spends every waking moment at her side, watching for glimpses and words of recognition that last but seconds and take longer to appear than the ones before._

_She whispers to Jianna without looking at her, "I don't remember where it is." Vacant eyes turn to Jianna, recognition absent, age having long since robbed her love of her mental faculties. "I think I've misplaced my greatsword… but I…" she trails off and her eyes cloud for a moment before they seem to fix on Jianna once again. Her croaky voice shakes as she smiles toothlessly, "oh, hello! Tell me, what is your name?"_

_Even having spent years in this routine, it never ceases to rip a new hole in Jianna's heart, and yet she cannot abandon Maya to such a fate._

_And so she watches, And waits for the day until it ends, all the while hoping for one last look of recognition._

_..._

* * *

_…_

_The last sight of a burial shroud is glimpsed through closing bronze doors, a makeshift mausoleum. There are tears for the knowledge of truly being alone, and relief for an end to Maya’s torment._

_..._

* * *

_…_

_Jianna tightly wraps her face with a black cloth as she stares into a clear pond. She is no longer able to stand the sight of herself. Seeing her face reminds her of Maya’s pain, and ruins her memory of her dearest, and last companion._

_..._

* * *

_…_

_She spends countless hours practicing her magic, and days are spent delving deep into the mysteries and esoteric theory of the arcane._

_It is all that helps occupy her idle mind._

_..._

* * *

_…_

_Decades, centuries, and millennia spent in isolation amongst the stars._

_For a time, there is madness, years spent screaming at the sky until her voice is gone, and her throat bleeds night after night until she no longer knows her own name._

_..._

* * *

_…_

_Eventually, she grows numb to her isolation. She loses track of time altogether. She finally loses the last memory she has clung to from her former life. She forgets Maya’s face, her voice, and eventually, Maya entirely._

_Somehow the loss of memory of anyone she's ever known makes it easier._

_..._

* * *

_…_

_It is a small infinitesimal spark that first catches her attention. For the first time in eons, the veiled woman opens her physical eyes. She no longer remembers what lies beneath the veil; only that it is repulsive. A single word issues forth as a whisper from an impossibly dry, parched throat._

_"Life."_

_..._

* * *

_…_

_Too many millennia are spent in meditative hibernation, her power growing beyond the limits of her physical being. Her flesh now is merely a form through which to work her craft. She no longer remembers why her body occupies the space it does as her mind flits between realities on a whim._

_..._

* * *

_…_

_She can see so clearly now, reality stretching back in an unknowable number of threads across a seemingly endless expanse of time and space. Back, and back, and back, and back, to a point so distant, a single origin so far gone, it may as well not exist._

_The Veiled Woman has explored them all, existing in every time, every moment, of every possible turn of fate, and yet existing outside of them._

_All._

_Save for one._

_And in her infinite knowledge she remembers._

_Remembers herself._

_Remembers her failures._

_Remembers her losses._

_Remembers Maya._

_Remembers what it is to love._

_Remembers her decision._

_Remembers her purpose._

_Remembers the High Ones._

_Remembers her home, for the pain it causes her to look upon._

_And yet, she cannot influence it._

_Cannot save the one most important to her._

_Even now, with infinity as her plaything, the limited concept of a being such as a god an amusing thought, she is locked out of her own timeline._

_And for the first time in eons, the Veiled Woman makes a new decision._

_A decision to defy her purpose._

_To change fate._

_If only in a single thread._

_Because the High Ones are her enemy._

_And her enemies, for all their intricacies, are a common connection between every thread of reality, their existence the only true commonality._

_And in that commonality lies their weakness._

_The Veiled Woman knows now, that to destroy a High One in one reality, is to destroy it in_ every _reality._

_For the High Ones are beings beyond physical form, beyond reality, and possibility, and exist outside the comprehension of all mortal beings._

_And the Veiled Woman?_

_She is no longer a mere mortal._

_Yet the place they exist is a place that, for all her limitless power, she cannot touch._

_..._

* * *

_…_

_It takes time for her to understand, but time is something she has an abundance of now._

_And so she waits._

_She observes._

_And she interacts._

_She understands now._

_Kadath._

_That origin point now all but forgotten for the unknowable number of realities that exists, was also her doing._

_And so she creates a perfect society without suffering as was dictated by the reality that had come before she existed. She watches it wither and grow joyless as perfection takes it toll._

_They attempt to create a beacon._

_The first beacon._

_They wish to ascend, to leave this mortal coil, and their impossible perfection behind. They know there is struggle somewhere, and they intend to take part in it. In whatever form._

_She destroys it, her perfect creation. But she acts too late, their beacon already activated when she acts. And a violent cataclysm takes place as her perfect beings ascend and become one with eternity._

_With the destruction of Kadath, she watches their sorrow create the first High One, the first branching of threads as so much death and suffering rips the very fabric of reality asunder._

_She understands in her folly that the High Ones are forever looking for her, to destroy their creator for her crimes against them._

_As she seeks to destroy them for creating her._

_And so a game begins._

_A cycle of her own making._

_A cycle which would create her, to create it._

_But she knows that all things must end, and this endless cycle cannot be allowed to continue infinitely._

_And so she watches._

_And she waits._

_And she influences a single strand of reality as she would plan to do many eons from Kadath's end._

_All in an effort to free herself of the wretch called Jianna's original goal._

_To be free._

_All the while realizing the irony that her efforts for freedom have crafted the very chains which bind her to infinity._

_..._

* * *

_..._

_Her influences are subtle, but they create new branches of reality altogether._

_Realities are born in her simple manipulations. A few words to the proper individual to set them on a path. Influencing an event to happen differently._

_It is easy enough to accomplish._

_Finally, the strand of reality she needs to accomplish her goals appears, her perfect strand that will end all that she has been working toward since her Fleshless creation an impossible amount of time ago._

_But she needs one with awareness to act._

_And so she waits for a different version of herself to be created, that she might act in the Veiled Woman's stead._

_..._

* * *

_..._

_It begins with a child._

_A child with a sickness that, before, was healed and joins a holy order in defense of mankind._

_But the Veiled Woman allows the sickness to fester and grow, until the child is taken into darkness by it._

_From the shadows, the Veiled Woman guides Dal'Galar to obsession, until Maya becomes host to a demon._

_Until she is in a form which can survive the ravages of the Beacon._

_Becomes Calia._

_A woman who can make a difference._

_A woman she scarcely recognizes._

_And the Veiled Woman feels heartache anew for the second loss of her love._

_..._

* * *

_..._

_A man and a woman stand frozen by fear across the cargo hold in the belly of a ship upon the open seas._

_A ship, bound for the country of Enderal._

_A ship carrying one so like the woman she would pretend to be._

_But first, she must dispose of the man she had once called her friend, for his existence is one of many ripples which must be smoothed if her plans are to come to fruition._

_The High Ones will have their vessel._

_But they will have it on her terms._

_…_

* * *

_..._

_In her own life, Jespar dies at Sirius' hands as he had survived to make it to Enderal._

_Unfortunately, Jespar's chance at life without him would be cut short at the hands of his own sister, and it was an anomaly that needs correcting._

_Despite her tweaks to the thread, and any such manipulations she makes, Jespar dies again, and again._

_And yet, for all the proper pieces to fall into place, he must live, for Calia alone cannot make a difference without him._

_The Veiled Woman comes to The Fleshless One at the time of Jespar's death, and resurrects him herself, for it is the only way to ensure his continued efforts until they are no longer needed._

_But interacting with the Fleshless One is painful, and the Veiled Woman has not known pain in time unknowable, and so she has avoided it until she could no longer._

_…_

* * *

_…_

_For all of her changes to this thread, Jespar's purpose comes full circle._

_It is small, but he is necessary to enact the change needed to fulfill their purpose._

_Without his injury after the Starling City, and the Prophetess' visit to him in the Curarium, she would die in a back alley of Ark. A victim of a simple mugging turned murder as she is caught unaware by an errant dagger slash to the throat._

_Instead, as she visits an injured friend, an inconsequential passerby falls victim to the knife that was to be her end, and loses their coin purse while keeping their life._

_And thus the future is secured._

_…_

* * *

_..._

_In Yuslan Sha-Rim's final deception to Arantheal, he destroys the essence of a High One._

_Watching from her cosmic vantage, the Veiled Woman looks on as that one act severs that High One's thread to every single reality, and snuffs it's influence on existence from eternity._

_She has not smiled in a long time._

_She smiles now._

_…_

* * *

_..._

_Finally, her last deed in the physical realm to create her perfect thread._

_For in truth, the creation of this thread was merely a precursor to the thread that would be needed to accomplish her final goal._

_Perhaps it is a small amount of vanity left in her that drives the Veiled Woman, but it is the Fleshless One in another lifetime that she works through._

_She wants it to be her, to end her self-made prison of timeless eternity. There is a rhythm to the idea that the one her enemies have created should be the one to end them. If there is one thing she has learned, it is that the universe is built on rhythms, and so she makes it so._

_In her last act before the Fleshless One's demise can be allowed to occur, she raises the Prophetess from death as no other has been allowed to in any previous cycle._

_But she must meet the Black Guardian if she is to avoid the Veiled Woman's decision._

_She must know that there is another option._

_And Calia saves her from the consequences of her choice, so that she is free to make it._

_…_

* * *

_..._

_Watching a version of herself ascend to nonexistence, the Veiled Woman let's her gift run its course before pulling her back from the brink._

_She could speak with her, but in truth she does not want to. The Veiled Woman has not interacted with anyone at length in eons, and she is not about to start now._

_She knows the Fleshless One's questions will be answered by her gift alone. And so, save for what is necessary to make her understand, the Veiled Woman lets the Echo work as it is intended._

_And then she gives life to the Fleshless One for the last time, and sets her on her course._

…

* * *

...

**"Breathe"**

…

* * *

...

Eyes shooting open, Jianna sits up quickly and takes a deep inhale of air as if it's the first she's ever had. She exhales, taking another shuddering breath as a familiar figure in leather and blue turns to face her.

It's hard to make him out in the dim light of dawn, but she would know him anywhere. His tone is the same good humored timber she remembers. "Well look at that. Our mysterious survivor has awoken."

That cocky, disarming smile plays across Jespar's face as he looks her over. 

Try as she might, She can't quite block out the image of Jespar as she'd last seen him. Grey, ashen skin, eyes reduced to hollow pits, and his voice a weak shell of who he'd been. 

Fuck… had that even been _real_? Her body quivers like a fragile leaf beneath her and she flexes her fist a couple of times to test the sensation. 

"Jes-Par?" His name falls from her lips in two quick gasps as her lungs struggle to breathe properly. 

She clenches her fist again, feeling for the several lifetimes of magical knowledge that she had acquired in the span of just six months. Like a well trained animal, it springs to the front of her mind on command.

With a quick burst of light, she sparks a glowing orb above her head, bathing the camp in bright white light. Her opposite hand springs open, a small spout of flame rising nearly a foot from her flesh before it falls and coalesces into a tight ball of explosive fury, ready to be hurled at a foe. 

Head turning to Jespar, she looks him in the eye, tapping into the deep well of psionic talent within her and finds his thoughts flooding her mind. 

_What the hell?!  
Fuck!  
Did I save a wild mage?!  
Is this the Red Madness?!  
I'm fucked.  
Stupid, Jespar!_

His racing mind makes her head pound like a drum and she quickly recoils, cutting the connection and falling back onto her elbows as she snuffs the fireball in her fist. Jianna digs the heel of her palm into her temple and winces as the pain leaves her gasping for breath. 

A small laugh falls from her lips, the sound more a whimper as she looks to Jespar. A look of surprise is on his face as his hand starts to pull a dagger from its sheath. 

"That's a bad arcane fever," he comments offhandedly. Jianna doesn't have to read his thoughts to know he's trying to consider how to fight the display he's just seen. Trying to decide if she's a threat.

"Yeah." She spits the word into the dirt as the pain subsides. Throwing herself forward, she leans heavily into her knees and mutters, "and no Jespar. I don't have the Red Madness." She tries to flash a wry grin at the cocky bastard, but she's sure it comes off more like a grimace. "Fuck." She pulls her hand from her temple, giving her head a hard shake. "My fever hasn't been this bad since we met," she mutters. 

Jespar eyes her warily as he takes a couple of steps back across the camp from her. "Forgive me, Mydame, but if we've met, I don't recall." His hand has yet to leave the pommel of his dagger, and his voice takes on an uncharacteristic air of guarded concern. "How do you know my name?"

"We…" even as she wants to say that they're friends, the words die on her lips as she remembers the Beacon. Her words become frantic as she asks, "how did you survive the explosion? Is Ark destroyed? Did you save me?" 

Taking another step back, Jespar raises the hand not gripping his dagger and does his best to keep his voice calm. Beneath the facade, Jianna knows him well enough to know that he's nervous. 

"My Lady, I am not one to judge or condemn for it, but…" he licks his lips quickly. "Are you a dust addict?" 

"Wha-" Jianna is about to speak a denial that, no of course she isn't a dust addict. But before the words can form on her tongue, she grips her head with both hands as a thunderbolt of pain slices through her awareness. 

A thousand images of herself snorting dust, eating it, mixing it into alcoholic beverages, rubbing it into open wounds, injecting it into her bloodstream, and a dozen other applications floods her mind. 

She's vaguely aware of a scream that is only getting louder as her vision fades and finally she realizes it's her as the pain subsides and her raw throat finds respite. Opening her eyes, she's curled on the ground on her side, still clutching her head between her hands. 

Her arms wobble beneath her and Jianna pushes herself back into a sitting position. Above her, Jespar is still across the campsite, though his dagger is now drawn, held in front of him as his mouth is set in a grim line. 

"My Lady, I was happy to bring you to my camp, but your actions have me unsettled." His voice has an air of polite concern that belies the panic growing within him as he hesitantly lowers his dagger. "And if I can't trust you, I'm going to have to ask you to leave." 

"I'm sorry," Jianna muttered as her gaze fell to the dirt at her feet. 

Those visions of herself using dust… they had forced her to remember the Veiled Woman. A Jianna from another thread of reality. One who was impossibly old, and more vast than the ocean itself. 

Seeing her memories, remembering them… they were tragic, lonely, and painful to behold. 

What she was trying to accomplish… it was a future she would never benefit from. And yet… she was working through Jianna to make it happen. She'd mentioned… going back. Doing it all again.

Defying the cycle. 

Had she really sent Jianna back? Back to the beginning? 

Her gaze meets Jespar's again, his steely eyes having never left her. "Master Dal'Verek? Forgive me, but do you know the date?" 

For a moment he looks confused, his eyes narrowing in distrust as he answers, "it's the morning of the seventeenth of First Harvest." He pauses, his mouth partially open as another question hangs on his lips. "And… how in the bloody hell do you know my name?"

It was the day she'd washed up on Enderal, half a year ago. She didn't need him to tell her the date to know that she was in the past. 

Jianna doesn't have to ask the question, because she already knows the answer. But she asks to make him feel more comfortable. More in control of the situation, because Jespar is too off his footing at the moment. And she knows she will need him in the days to come. 

She smiles, a humorless laugh falling from her lips as she asks, "do you believe in fate, Jespar?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I need to get an outline going x.x
> 
> Let me know your thoughts in the comments ^.^
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	2. Let's Start Over...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jespar gets to know a stranger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi hi!
> 
> So, chapter 2 came fairly easy after the first one ^.^ 
> 
> I enjoyed trying out Jespar's perspective and (personally) I think I nailed it :P feel free to tell me otherwise lol 
> 
> I had originally intended for it to go a little further, but Jianna got on an angst train toward the end and this thing ended up almost being 10k on its own, so I called it good a little sooner than intended :P 
> 
> A decent amount of prophetess backstory in this one and her just trying to earn Jespar's trust. 
> 
> Hopefully you enjoy ^.^

Altruism isn't an impulse common to Jespar's way of life. He's a mercenary after all. If he's not getting paid for it, he'll typically turn and go without a thought. And yeah, he can be a selfish bastard, and an outright prick on his bad days, sure. 

But he isn't one to leave a person to die when he can do something about it. 

That's why, when the explosion rouses him from sleep in the early morning, he creeps to the doorway in the dam and watches. Not far from him, a scavenging group of half a dozen bandits picks through the charred remains of the Apothecary camp before slinking back off into the night. He watches them until they cross the river, rise over the valley, back toward the north, and disappear from sight. 

Once they're gone, he counts the seconds that go by for around ten minutes before deciding it's safe to investigate. Earlier the previous day, Jespar and the pair of Apothecarii had done a bit of trading of supplies. He figures he owes it to them to at least check that they're alive now. 

But as soon as he arrives, it's clear both have died from their wounds, and their flesh still smolders in places as if to drive the point home. A cursory glance of their camp doesn't show much, and he's eager to crawl back into bed for a couple of more hours before he continues his mind-numbing search of the coastline for Yero's strongbox. 

It's a good thing the pious fools at the Sun Temple pay well, or he'd have trudged back to Ark two days ago and given them a few creative ideas of where they could shove a strongbox of their own. 

Shaking his head, he lets out a small, "hmph," of sympathy to the pair of men before he turns. "Poor bastards," he mutters, his eyes glancing back to his camp. In the dark, he misses the body in the bushes entirely. If not for tripping over her foot as it lay limp across his path back to his bedroll, he'd never have noticed. 

Pulling her from the brambles, he finds an Aeterna woman, no older than thirty. She’s passed out in a tangled mess of ill fitting, rusted armor and a thin, moth-eaten cowl. She smells of a horrible combination of the sea, sweat, mildew, and rust, and he wrinkles his nose at the scent as he glances back to his camp. Finally, he forces a sigh of resignation through his nose for what he knows he should do.

Jespar doesn't relish the thought of carrying the large, offensively odored woman back with him. But she's alive, and his shaky moral compass, for all its flaws, won't let him just abandon her. That's not something he'll ever let himself do again. 

Gods know he'll never forgive himself for doing it the first time.

So, he pulls some beeswax from one of his pouches, and shoves the fashioned cones of it into each nostril. The woman is over six feet tall, maybe six and a half, and just from looking at her, he expects a hell of a struggle to get her back. But once he's pulled her from the tangle of vegetation, he realizes that for all her height, she barely weighs anything. 

Her frame is thin and gangly like she hasn’t eaten a proper meal in weeks. The armor, if the sad rusted plates and worn leather she's wearing can even be called that, is probably the heaviest thing on her. But the more he looks at her armor the more he realizes it's clearly scavenged. 

He can't be certain, but he assumes even the quiver of arrows and the longbow on her back are scavenged as well. 

Where did this woman come from?

The armor seems to be made for someone smaller in stature, though heavier, and there’s a gap between the top of her leather leggings and the bottom of her breastplate where her navel is plainly visible. The cuffs that should end at the wrist, hang loose on her lightly muscled arms and stop somewhere around half a foot of that mark up her forearm. 

The legs are no different, ending just below her knee and hang like loose trousers rather than protective hide. The boots though are a different story. The studded leather is large, knocking loosely around on her feet, and her toes leave more than two inches of room to the boot tip from where they end. 

Wherever she'd gotten them, they must have been made for a giant.

In fact, the thick leather gloves on her hands are the only thing in her mismatched and ill-fitting ensemble that are actually her size. 

It's too dark to make out anything beyond that though. With one last sleep deprived groan, he lifts the towering woman over his shoulders and makes a stooped return up the stairs and back to his own camp. 

He's sticky with sweat from the effort of bringing her back, though it's only partially due to the exertion. She's burning up. Her entire body is hot to the touch with fever even as her unconscious form shivers against the cool early morning air of late spring. 

Thankfully, he has a second bedroll with him for emergencies. After deciding to sleep under the stars in Goldenforst one night, he'd woken to a downpour, and had been almost 3 days from Ark still. His bedroll had been soaked through the rest of the way there. 

Yet another mistake he would never make again.

Jespar removes the bow and quiver and sets them on the ground beside her. He then lays her in the spare bedroll close to his fire pit from the night before. He thinks that _maybe_ he can help the fever break if he can just keep her warm enough. 

After that, he sets to rekindling the dying embers of his fire, and sits close by on the ground beside her. Looking at them in the light, the bow and quiver of arrows are blunt and brittle, almost more suited for children's playthings than battle ready weapons. 

He takes a sip from his waterskin, making sure to leave enough for his strange new companion as he glances over the valley. The eastern rim is just beginning to show the pale glow of coming morning, and he throws a tired glance back at his unconscious charge. 

"You'd better b- aaahh," his face scrunches as he yawns suddenly. "Ah. Be worth the trouble," he mumbles to himself. 

Looking at her face, her cowl is skewed. For a moment, Jespar considers leaving it. But it seems counterproductive when the goal is to keep her warm, so he reaches to tug the cowl snug against her cheeks. As he pulls the fabric though, he gets his first real look at her features, and what he sees gives him pause. 

Her hair is strawberry blonde and cut short in an almost brutish hack job. Pieces are longer than others, and it looks as though it’s never seen a proper style. Her skin is coppery, almost a dull gold in it’s color, and her features are very clearly that of an Aeterna. If not for looking closely he’d have thought she might be full blood, but there are subtleties to her features that suggest Nehrimese or Arazealean blood as well. 

Noticeable in the firelight is a number of scars that mark her face. There are long-healed wounds ranging from small scratches here and there, to a massive healed gash from the top of her left brow that trails over her eye and curves beneath her cheekbone. 

The worst of them though, and by far the freshest looking, is a half-inch wide, raised band of pink scar tissue that circles her neck.

Jespar had seen more than one scar in his life from ropes that have bitten into someone's flesh as they struggled for freedom. He sports a pair himself around his wrists after a run in with a less than friendly pair of Arazealean natives. 

But the thing that catches Jespar off guard most, is her ears. 

Where every Aeterna he’s met, even those of partial blood, have long, pointed ears, hers are blunted. Heavy scar tissue mars the top edge of her ears as though they’d been roughly hacked off. Neither was cut clean, and the skin seems to have healed unevenly on both. But where the left is about the size of an average ear, if a little squared, the right is sliced to just above her ear canal. 

Drawing her cowl closed and tight to retain the heat, a pit opens in Jespar’s stomach, a feeling of pity for what the woman must have been made to endure in her life. His thought of traces of Nehrimese blood seems accurate in hindsight. He’d heard that Aeterna were especially feared and hated in that country, but he'd never actually seen evidence of it before. 

To keep busy, and with dawn fast approaching, he makes himself pull a couple of pans to begin preparing a small breakfast for the pair of them. He puts a kettle of water on to boil for tea as he cuts potatoes while a pair of venison steaks begin to sizzle over the fire. 

After a few minutes, the kettle begins to steam and he stops to pour the water into prepared mugs so that the tea can steep as he works. He flips the steaks and gets back to slicing potatoes.

From behind him, a sharp inhale of air is followed by ragged breathing that signals his companion waking. He drops the knife next to the potatoes he hasn't quite finished cutting, and turns to face her with a wry smile. "Well look at that. Our mysterious survivor has awoken." 

She gives him a look that is all too familiar and he isn't sure why, but she looks relieved at the sight of him. The Aeterna is gasping and she can barely ask without having to take a breath for each syllable, "Jes-Par?" 

It takes a moment , but he can feel the hair rise on the back of his neck as he realizes she's said his name. 

But before he can ask how in the hell she knows it, she looks down at her left fist, and light begins to spill from between her clenched fingers. She opens her hand, and an orb of light soars above their heads and illuminates the camp in an almost blinding white light. 

It's not until she raises her other hand and a small jet of flame shoots from her palm in the telltale signs of a fireball that his hand instinctively falls to his dagger. The only thing that stops him from pulling it as she locks eyes with him is a tickle of warning at the back of his mind that he's no longer alone in his head. 

His mind asks, ' _what the hell?!_ even as he recognizes the feeling of psionic magic. What was he thinking? He knows wild mages and worse run through these parts! Or… was this the Red Madness?

It's dangerous and damn stupid to help a stranger these days. He should have known better! He silently berates himself as he feels the mental contact break, and the stranger falls back on the bedroll, looking dazed. 

She whimpers a little, digging her palm into her temple as, suddenly, the fever makes sense. 

"That's a bad arcane fever you've got." He doesn't take his eyes off of her, afraid that if he does, he'll be incinerated. She hasn't actually attacked him, but it's never a good sign when a stranger wakes, says your name, and immediately starts casting. 

"Yeah," she gives a small nod as she raises her legs and sits up, leaving heavily into her knees. She looks exhausted. The Aeterna mutters, "and no, Jespar. I _don't_ have the Red Madness." She bares her teeth in what he thinks is supposed to be a smile and pulls her hand from her head. "Fuck." She gives it a hard shake, probably making the headache worse as she quietly says, "my fever hasn't been this bad since we met." 

He takes a couple cautionary steps back from her, eager to keep his distance. “Forgive me, Mydame. But if we’ve met, I don’t recall.” His hand stays tight on his dagger, ready to draw it if necessary. “How do you know my name?”

For a moment, a look of confusion passes over the Aeterna’s face, and she starts to say, “we-” but before she goes further her eyes widen and she suddenly has a wild expression of concern and alarm. Her voice is almost hysterical as she asks, “How did you survive the explosion? Is Ark destroyed?! Did you save me?”

Instinctively, his free hand raises in a silent plea for her to calm down, and he takes another step back. He feels far from safe in this situation, and she seems unstable at best. “My lady, I am not one to judge or condemn for it,” his tongue passes quickly over dry lips, “but are you a dust addict?” If she is, it would explain the sudden and erratic behavior. 

Especially if she’s going through withdrawals.

She eyes him for a moment, her mouth opening to reply. She barely makes a sound before she grips her head between her hands and starts screaming. Her scrawny frame seems to collapse on itself as she crumples to the ground and begins writhing there, her scream of pain cutting through his skull. 

He draws a dagger on impulse and takes a defensive stance. For a moment, he thinks she might be becoming an Oorbaya, and curses himself again for his hospitality. 

He just wants to get paid. 

Is that so much to ask? 

The screaming and writhing doesn’t last long though, and after a few moments she stops and catches her breath. Weakly, she pushes herself up and back onto her backside. She looks exhausted and more than a little dazed. 

Jespar had never seen a withdrawal symptom like _that_ before. What is _wrong_ with this woman? He starts, “my lady? I was happy to bring you to my camp, but your actions have me unsettled.” He realizes a little too late that pulling a dagger on someone who could incinerate him with a thought isn’t the wisest move. He starts to lower it as he tries to remain cordial. “And if I can’t trust you, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” Even he can hear the small quaver of fear in his voice. 

The Aeterna’s eyes fall to the dirt between her legs and she mutters a quick apology. For a long moment she’s quiet. He watches her, unblinking, until she finally looks back at him with a curious expression. 

“Master Dal’Verek? Forgive me, but do you know the date?” 

She knows his last name too? How in the hell does she know who he is? He has a reputation, sure. But it isn’t _that_ widespread. He’s not an idiot. 

Mostly.

“It’s the seventeenth of First Harvest.” He opens his mouth again, almost afraid to ask the question again. “And… _How_ in the bloody hell do you know my name?”

She gives him an unnerving smile and a laugh as though it were obvious. "Do you believe in fate, Jespar?" 

Great. 

A religious lunatic, and a sinistrope to boot. 

"No," he says as he eyes her warily. The hand holding his dagger hurts for how tightly he's gripping it, but he sure as hell isn't going to die for trying to save someone's life. "Fate's for self-important fools and people who need to think the gods have a plan for them." 

This time when the Aeterna laughs, there's almost delight in it, and she looks pleased with his answer. She shakes her head beaming up at him. "You know? Six months ago, I'd have agreed with you without hesitation." 

What in the hell is she talking about? "And now?" The words jump out of his mouth before he has time to think about it. 

"Well…" She shrugs. "There's nothing quite like dying and being brought back a couple of times to change your perspective." Her tone is so nonchalant, her words take a moment to set in. 

Now he _knows_ she's crazy. "Bullshit."

There's a sad smile tugging at her lips, and she eyes him fondly. Her words are soft as she says, "I watched you die and be brought back too." She pauses, looking a little too deeply into his eyes. It's almost like she's looking for something. Her voice is even quieter as she mumbles, "I watched you die again a few weeks later." She gives a small nervous laugh, and sniffs as if she's holding back tears. "I guess I was responsible for it that time though."

He's starting to get frustrated with her cryptic routine. He growls, "let's just cut to the chase. Are you going to try to kill me, or are we done here?"

She cocks her head, an almost amused expression on her face. "Jespar, if I wanted you dead, you would have been a few seconds after I woke up." 

The way she says it is so matter-of-fact, as if it's obvious, and there's a conviction to her words that makes him believe her. If he's certain of one thing, it's that this woman has him spooked. "What do you want then?"

She sniffs, and scrunches her face in disgust. "I reek! What I _want_ is a bath and a… change… of…" she trails off, looking like she's thinking intensely. "Hold on…" she mutters. 

Before Jespar can ask, she holds her hands three feet apart, the palms facing one another. It only takes a moment until something begins to take shape and in another moment, a translucent chest sits at her feet in the dirt. She brings a palm to her head with a small grimace once the spell is cast, the headache likely flaring again.

Looking at it, he'd have thought it was an illusion if he hadn't heard of such things. Through it, he could see her legs still curled beneath her, if only partially obscured. He’s never actually seen one before though. "Is that a spectral chest?"

The pain seems to pass quickly, and her hand drops to the chest. "Mhmm," she hums as she lifts the lid. Peeking inside, a look of wonder grows on her face, and she whispers, "it's all still here." 

Reaching inside, her hand gently draws up a squat bottle of a swirling purple potion with an elegant glass stopper in it. For a moment, she stares in wonder at the shifting contents within. Her voice is almost reverent as she whispers, “all of it."

She quickly returns the bottle and peers inside to begin removing things. As she does, Jespar reaches forward with his dagger and swipes the blade at the lid, watching the metal pass through without resistance. He doesn't feel a thing except for the air passing around his hand as he swings. It's as if the thing isn't even there. 

She sets aside several sacks that jingle, an open topped, slotted box that would normally contain mead filled with stoppered potion bottles that clank as they are put on the ground. She also removes an open pack filled with dozens of rolled scrolls before she smiles and glances back at Jespar. She looks a little too pleased with herself. "Only the caster can interact with it." 

He nods, “I’ve heard about them.” For a moment, his caution gives way to curiosity. “Is it true if I looked in, I wouldn’t see what’s inside? Just through it to the dirt below?”

The Aeterna holds her hands out as if inviting him, “come look.”

Caution quickly kicks back in and he waves the invitation away. “I’m comfortable here, thank you. No offense, but boasting about your power didn't inspire a whole lot of confidence that you still won't try to kill me." 

She rolls her eyes with an amused smile. "I'm _not_ going to kill you Jespar. You're one of my closest friends." She shrugs, "or… you know. You will be, I guess." 

He doesn't even try to hide the skepticism he's feeling as he grunts, "uh huh…" He knows for a fact he's never met this woman, but she's too uncomfortably acquainted with him for his liking. "You still haven't told me your name. Or how you know mine for that matter." 

The giddy expression falls from her face and she sighs, looking almost pained by his words. “You really don’t know me? At all?” 

He shakes his head in reply. "Afraid not."

For a long moment she studies his face like she’s waiting for him to break and admit to some joke. Finally, she sighs and begins digging through the chest again. "I'm Jianna." She sounds hurt, her words gruff as she says, “and call it a lucky guess.” 

A lucky guess, Malphas' ass.

Whatever. “Well Jianna, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” It really isn’t, but what else is he supposed to say? The lunatic thinks she knows him and he’s not about to unnecessarily piss her off. “Unfortunately, we’re going to have to part ways as I have a job I need to complete.” He nods to the partially cooked venison, browning sliced potatoes, and mugs of tea by the fire. “Feel free to eat and rest here until you can get to your feet.” In the back of his mind he’s begging her to vacate his camp by the time he comes back. Thinking about how much he wishes to be rid of this strange person, he turns to head down the hill. 

For now, he would just rather get away from her. 

“Actually,” her voice rings from behind him, “you can get your camp packed up.” 

For a second, an annoyed retort flashes through his mind, but with a deep breath he quashes the impulse and turns back to face her. “And _why_ , pray tell is that?”

Still on the ground, around Jianna there is a small pile of clothes, a bar of soap, a couple bottles of ambrosia, a quiver stuffed full with black arrows, two rolled scrolls, and a dagger, the hilt wrapped in black leather with a bronze pommel and a sheath of simple finished wood. 

Having put everything else back already, she smiles up at him. “I’m going to go bathe by the dam and change. And then when we’re ready to go, I’ll show you where Yero’s strongbox is. And then we’ll go check out his basement.” She shrugs, unstopping the first bottle of ambrosia. “We can skip talking to his friend though. He doesn’t have anything important to tell us.” 

Not waiting for him to reply, she drops the cork, squeezes her eyes shut and pinches her nose with her free hand as she upends the milky substance into her mouth. 

Once the bottle is empty, she drops it and lets out an, “ugh!” of disgust. Her shoulders shiver and she grimaces even as relief seems to take hold. Desperately reaching for one of the mugs of tea Jespar pointed out, she downs a hearty gulp before shooting a glance at the second bottle. 

The chest at her feets fades away as she reluctantly reaches for the next dose of ambrosia.

With an amused chuckle into his palm, Jespar watches a similar performance as she drops the second bottle near the first and raises the back of her hand to cover her mouth. For a moment she looks like she’s going to be sick before letting out a loud belch

He grins. “That stuff tastes like undead sweat.” 

Jianna’s face is pinched with distaste and she lets out a small grunt of agreement as she moves her hand to drink some more of the tea. 

It hits him a moment later what she said about Yero now that the amusement has passed. His eyes narrow in suspicion as he asks, “how do you know about my job, anyway?”

She sets down the tea and goes about gathering up her possessions. As she gets to her feet, she shoots him a pointed glance. “Because we’ve done this before.”

He eyes her skeptically and she looks away, but doesn’t say anything else. “Well…” If nothing else, Jespar figures he doesn’t have anything to lose by humoring her. He's about done with this stretch of the coastline anyway, so he would have to move camp today or tomorrow regardless. He might as well follow a nut around for lack of anything better to do. 

She's at least friendly enough and seems inclined not to kill him. 

“What the hell?" He shrugs. "All right. You help me finish this job, and I’ll introduce you to someone who can help you get that fever under control.”

Jinna rolls her eyes and groans. “Constantine.” She says his name like it’s something vulgar, and he can’t help but chuckle for the reaction. 

“The very same,” he agrees. It takes him a moment to remember that he hadn’t said his name, and he feels the hair on the back of his neck begin to prickle again. “That’s about the proper reaction for the man, I’d say.” He nods toward the dam, “I’ll finish the food and get camp packed. Go bathe.” He grins, “you definitely have a smell to you.” 

Jianna actually laughs and she gives him a grateful look. “Thank you, Jespar. I know this is probably strange, but I promise I’ll explain what I can.” She turns and is about to walk away, but turns back to him suddenly. "Sorry um… could you fry up a leek or something for me?" She grimaces, her arm covering her stomach. "I don't eat meat. It makes me sick." 

"Uh… sure." _Strange_ is a word for her at the very least.

She smiles gratefully, "thank you." With that, she heads toward the dam, through the doorway, and out of sight. 

If she can get his ass out of this remote end of the continent and back into the comforts of Ark that much sooner? Hell, he’s willing to cook whatever she wants if all he has to do is follow her for the day. Dangerous nut though she may be, she’s at least friendly enough that he isn’t _immediately_ concerned for his life.

Of course, that doesn’t mean his hands won’t be too far from his daggers. Just in case. 

He’s only just flipped the venison and gotten the potatoes going along with a leek and some cheese melted over the top, when a loud boom issues from the direction of the dam. For a second, he considers investigating, but talks himself out of it when he remembers Jianna’s fireball from earlier. One of the bandits must have returned for scraps. 

Poor, dumb asshole. 

While the food cooks, Jespar begins tearing down his tent and condenses it and the bedrolls until they can be lashed together and hung from his pack. When the food is finished, he collapses the kettle, and sets aside the food onto a couple of large leaves he finds near the camp. Finally, after giving them a quick rinse and once over with a rag, he puts the rest of his cookware and the rations into the bag itself, padded with some wool so as not to make any excess noise. 

He sets aside the second venison steak for later, and wraps it in a spare piece of clean leather. Before he puts his knife away, he cuts a slice from his loaf of crusty bread for her as well. She looks like she hasn’t eaten properly in weeks.

By the time he's closing his bag, Jianna returns, looking significantly less patchwork than when he'd found her. The armor is replaced by a simple set of traveling mage's robes with pants rather than a low hanging hem, and they even fit her properly, if a bit loosely. A fur-lined cowl of a matching deep blue is pulled up around her face, and Jespar notices that it's pulled tight to obscure her ears. 

Her quiver hangs at an angle from her waist, the fletched ends just visible around her right side, and the dagger hangs in front of it from her hip. She wears flexible Pyrean gauntlets on her hands, and a pair of comfortable, fitted travel boots that cover her feet to just below the knee. 

Jespar smiles, holding out the leaf that contains her portion. "Now you look like a proper Arcanist." He gives the air a quick sniff and a nod of approval. "And you don't even smell."

Having a few minutes to himself helped to reset his mood considerably, and he's almost able to push their rocky introduction to the back of his mind. 

Or at least enough to try to pretend she doesn't scare the daylights out of him.

She shoots him a look that has him wondering if she’ll kill him in his sleep before she accepts the leaf and begins tearing into her food. Without looking back at him, she starts down the hill and makes for the coastline. Jespar quickly catches up, wondering all the while how he suddenly became the lackey in his own job.

For a little while, the two eat in silence and Jespar studies Jianna from the corner of his eyes. By all counts, she’s relaxed and seems to have no semblance of guard up with him. Her gaze sweeps the road ahead and the brush to their sides as they walk, but it seems more a reflex for her than anything as most of her conscious effort is focused on shoving the last bits of cheesy potato into her mouth. 

“So…” They’d just passed over the bridge from Three River Watch, “are you going to explain any of whatever happened before, or are we going to just chalk it all up to a lucky guess?”

Dropping the leaf, Jianna was quiet for several moments before she finally answered. “Honestly?” She pauses, taking a deep breath. “I’m going to sound nuts if I tell you the details, but…” She makes a face at him, “I’m from six months in the future and was brought back to life here after I died.” 

Jespar makes a mental checkmark next to the word, ‘insane.’

He shrugs, “well, I _already_ think you’re nuts, so you may as well start with something easy.” Jespar wags a finger between them, “us, for example? You mentioned something about six months a coupple times, so ignoring the possible implications of you being from the future, tell me how close we were. How’d we meet? Why did we become friends? Exactly how much do you know about me, and how much catch up do I have to do with you?”

At this point, Jespar just wants to know anything he can get out of her. Having a stranger knowing who you were as well as she seemed to is more than just a little unnerving, and he’d like some even ground in this ‘friendship’ of theirs. 

She smiles at him for just a second before looking away. "You're really good at that." 

He feels his eyebrow raise on automatic as he asks, "good at what?" 

Jianna's shoulders raise in an easy shrug. "What you just did. You make big things more manageable to talk about, or figure out, and with how much we’ve been through, it’s nice. Helps me keep my head on straight." She blows a big breath of air out through her lips as she thinks. "We actually met the same way we just did." 

“I see.” Jespar isn’t a fan of overcomplicating things, and the easier communication can be made, he’s usually for it. "I take it you didn't have quite the same reaction to waking up as you did this time?"

She shakes her head with a small smile, “not quite. You were less scared of me and more doing your best to help me out after I’d landed on my ass in Enderal.” Jianna shrugs, “we actually ended up getting to be really close.”

Well, some information is a start, but she’s still being incredibly vague. Might as well cut to the chase. “So what’s with the cryptic routine? Were we lovers or something?”

“No!” She actually looks appalled, and he tries to ignore the dent in his ego the look leaves. “No, nothing like that.” She looks far away for a moment. For a second, there's a look of longing on her face and a small smile tugs at her cheeks. “We just went through a lot together. Our relationship started as a mutually beneficial partnership, and before long, we were sharing a pipe of peaceweed and talking about our successes, our failures. We both opened up about a lot of private things.” Jianna smiles for the memory. 

The look of ease on her face actually leaves Jespar wishing he shared it. It’s been a while since he’s had a close friend that he would share things with, and he’s surprised to find a part of himself hoping they could become close like that again. 

Nevermind the fact that she claims to be from the future. 

But he is curious, “what kinds of things did I share with you?” How well does this lunatic actually know him?

“Well…” She shoots him a quick glance, almost as if she’s gauging how much he believes her. “You told me about your father, and how his idealism got him and your brothers killed. About how you and Adila survived because you’d been on one of your, ‘expeditions.’” Jianna looks at him again before looking back to scan the road ahead. “You mentioned that your mother died giving birth to Adila, and about how you went your separate ways after the attack on your estate. How she joined the Apothecarii while you became a sellsword. And…” She looks worried, weighing the decision of how much of his own past to share with him. 

Every small hair on Jespar’s neck and arms rises the more she mentiones his past. There aren’t many people alive these days who know most of those details, so it isn’t likely that she just picked them up in any tavern. In fact, he isn’t even sure who she could have learned this from, short of himself. It’s eerie, and as much as he doesn’t want to, a part of himself is starting to believe her. “And?” 

She starts a little slowly, as if she’s choosing her words carefully. “And, you told me about your views on love and romantic relationships. How people should be together, not out of obligation, but because they genuinely want to be there for one another.” Jianna shoots him a small smile. “I wholeheartedly agree by the way.” That look of longing, accompanied by some measure of pain or loss is there again as she looks, first, shyly to the dirt between them, before going back to the road. “And... you told me about Lysia, and about how you two… parted ways near Goldenforst.” The pause was just long enough to get the message across. 

It’s about then that Jespar’s blood runs cold and the tingle up his spine suddenly feels like a dip in the lake by Frostcliff. She really does know him then. It isn’t exactly like he’s ever freely admitted the truth of what happened to Lysia to anyone. He can barely admit it to himself most days. For once he genuinely feels speechless.

But then it hits him.

Jespar stops walking, and _really_ looks at her as she stops and turns back to him. “I’ve _never_ told anyone about that.” She made it clear she was a psionicist the moment she woke up, he knows that for a fact. His voice is low as he asks, “did you go digging in my fucking head?” That had to be it. She’d gone rooting through his mind when he was distracted and was trying to make him think she knew him. 

He just can’t figure out to what end. 

She shakes her head, “no! No, Jesar I wouldn’t do that to you!” Jianna’s hands come up as if she’s trying to placate him, and he watches them carefully for the faintest hint of magic being worked. “I know I did when I woke up, but I panicked.” She shakes her head again, “I wasn’t sure if I’d been dreaming or what happened to me, and the only way to be sure in that moment was to test my abilities. I would _never_ betray your privacy like that.” 

She goes on, "when I first came to Enderal, I learned psionics because I craved power. I probably would have dug into your mind if I'd been able to when we first met." Jianna's expression is grave, and she actually looks uncomfortable as she admits it. "I wanted to control and manipulate people and I didn't care how I did it." She shakes her head, "But I've changed. I'm not that person anymore. I’m not always perfect, but I’m a hell of a lot better than I used to be. And I would never use my abilities on someone I care about like that." 

For a long moment, he stares her down and tries to decide whether or not to leave her here. Finally, his voice still hard with doubt, he asks, “how do I know I can trust you?” 

“You don’t.” She actually sounds worried, and that does help to make him feel a bit better. But only a little. She’d made it clear enough that she could turn him into a puddle with a thought, but that still didn’t mean she wasn’t trying to use him for _some_ reason. “But I know where Yero’s strongbox is. You don’t. Once I show it to you, then I’ll tell you what’s in his basement, and you can go see for yourself.” Her voice is small, as if she’s silently pleading with him to trust her. “You’ll have all you need to finish your job for Constantine then, and we can be on our way to Ark.”

That still doesn’t answer why she wants to travel with him so badly. “And why are you trying to help me? You clearly don’t need the help if you’re as strong as you claim.” 

Jianna lets loose an exasperated sigh, “I already told you, you _thickheaded_ , _cynical_ , _treasure hunter_!” She throws her hands up in frustration. “Because we’re _friends_!”

While it’s true, Jespar is a bit of a cynic, and he does rather enjoy the thrill of being called a treasure hunter, even if condescendingly, he resents the accusation of being thickheaded. He opens his mouth to retort, but before he can make a sound, a gruff voice calls from the brush. 

“Well, look at that.” From behind Jianna, a large, dirty man in heavy, reinforced leather armor steps from the bushes aiming a crossbow at her back. “Looks like we got us a little lover’s quarrel.” 

There’s a crunch of gravel behind Jespar, and he can only assume a similar situation is unfolding behind him as a woman’s high, nasally voice replies. “Might want to be a little bit quieter in these parts.” She chuckles, “I hear there’s bandits on this road.” 

Having a crossbow pointed at his head from point blank range is a situation Jespar has tried to avoid through his life. What with having a bolt to the brain being fatal and all. His hands begin to rise before he even thinks about it, and he realizes too late he should have grabbed one of his daggers. 

Jianna growls, almost as if being held up were a minor inconvenience, but she doesn’t move. 

The gruff voiced man waves his crossbow at her back, “hands up, girl. We’ll kill you if we have to.” 

It’s then that her hand flashes with an icy blue light and, for a second, there’s a sound like grinding metal as a creature rises from the ground behind her. It takes Jespar a moment to recognize the thing. Even the man behind her seems frozen in confusion before his face disappears and it stands at it’s full height. Towering over Jianna’s tall, half-Aeterna frame, her summoning spell finishes and the Ice Elemental seems to creak to life. 

“Drop!” Jianna yells, her hands already pulsing with magic and Jespar obeys on instinct alone as his legs fold beneath him. He meets the dirt in an undignified sprawl. 

There’s a yell from behind her and a small, ‘ _tink_ ’ of metal glancing off of the elemental’s hard crystalline body. The bolt spins uselessly overhead and somewhere into the brush. 

He can just make out the rapid flash of a second crossbow bolt whizzing over his head before it too bounces off the Ice Elemental and lands harmlessly in the dirt. 

Jianna reaches forward with her right hand and tugs it back. The woman’s crossbow flies overhead into the space between them. It’s a fluid movement, almost like the push and pull of the tides, and as her right arm comes back, her left shoots forward, materializing a large spike of ice that looses from her palm. It soars over Jespar’s head, and there’s the sickly sound of ripping flesh and snapping bone as it bores into the bandit behind him. She only lets out a small whimper before he hears her body hit the dirt. 

In front of him, he can only see the back of the Ice Elemental’s legs, and for a moment, the man’s before there’s a similar sound of punctured flesh. He lets out a strangled gurgle as his feet leave the ground. He disappears for a moment before the large creature’s arm rises overhead and slings the dying man’s body from it’s spike of a limb. Even as his body slides free from it, his hands are scrabbling against it’s icy exterior and failing to find purchase before he’s soaring through the air. 

His body lands several feet up the road in a mangled heap, unmoving. 

A new respect and fear for the Aeterna woman wells up in Jespar's chest for what he's just witnessed. She wasn't kidding when she said she could have killed him if she wanted. 

Looking up at her from his spot on the ground, Jespar tries to keep the awe out of his voice. "Thanks." 

As he starts pushing himself up, an offered hand enters his vision. He stares at it for a second before it gives a small shake and he understands. Grabbing her wrist, she grips Jespars arm and helps pull him to his feet with a groan. 

"Ah," she grimaces, nearly losing her balance as he comes up. "I forgot how frail my body was when I got to Enderal." 

Getting his feet under him again, Jespar pats the dust off of his clothes, amazed that dirt is the only thing there is to worry about. “Frail? My Lady, you just killed those two without any effort whatsoever!”

She holds up her narrow forearm, “I’m talking about physically. My mana pool is still as deep as I remember it being, and my spells are still all up here.” Jianna taps her head with her finger. “But apparently I’m back in my body as it was the day it washed up on Enderal. Uncontrolled fever and all. And this thing?” She holds her arms out as if presenting herself for inspection. “I forgot what a body that isn’t used to three meals a day is like.” 

“Ah, I see.” Today just gets weirder and weirder.

They start their walk down the road again, silent for a while until Jespar finally speaks up. “I uh…” He isn’t good at apologies, and just the notion feels uncomfortable. “I wanted to thank you again for dealing with those two by the way. And I’m…” He rubs the back of his neck, “I’m sorry. For accusing you of using your magic on me.” He sighs, “this is just a lot to take in, and I’m trying to take your word for it. But I’m not great at trusting people out of the blue, and I’m going to need some time to get used to…” he spins his finger in a circle between them. “All of this.” 

“It’s fine.” Her tone is clipped, like she’s trying to hold back how she really feels, even though she’s upset. “Honestly, if I had known what was happening when I woke up, I wouldn’t have sprung this on you.” She shoots him a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “I know you too well to do that.” 

“Well,” they turn right for the second time as the broken remains of Yero’s house comes into sight up the path. “Tell me a bit about you then. If we did indeed become so close, I’m sure there’s plenty of reason for it.” He’d been wanting to ask since the attack had ended, but his curiosity is finally getting the better of him. "You said that you were a different person when you first came to Enderal. So what made you change? Was it some new sense of idealism or piety?" He tries to keep the skepticism from leaking into his voice too much, but it’s hard. 

Jianna purses her lips and is quiet for a long moment. Finally she laughs and looks at her feet as they walk. "Honestly? The reason is kind of cliché."

Giving a small scoff, Jespar gestures to himself. "I'm hardly one to judge. If you haven't noticed, I'm something of a walking cliché, myself." He can't stop himself from rolling his eyes at the thought.

Glancing at him, she rolls her eyes with a smile. "That's probably the most self-aware thing I've heard you say." She chuckles. 

He glares at her from the side of his eye. "Mhmm," he hums.

For a moment, she falls silent, and Jespar is more than a little miffed for thinking that she's dropped the subject. 

Finally, Jianna starts. "I…" she laughs, and covers her forehead with her palm, shaking her head at herself. "I met this woman. And… she's incredible. Kind, intelligent, thoughtful, a little brooding, kinda quiet, fantastic with a greatsword, firm and muscular…" her fingers absentmindedly grasp the sure in front of her as she speaks, as though she's runinng her hands down the woman she's describing. "Everything!" She lets out a small, sad laugh. "She's beautiful." There's a small tone of wonder in her voice as she talks about this girl, and Jespar can't help but think that she sounds like a lovedrunk fool. 

Barely keeping himself from rolling his eyes, Jespar deadpans, "so you fell in love and realized you were garbage." He shakes his head, "hmph. That _is_ cliché."

"No!" She snaps back at him. Her demeanor immediately deflates, "not real-" she sighs, "I mean, kind-? Hey, fuck you!" Her cheeks turn red and she crosses her arms across her chest, staring straight ahead.

She suddenly looks like a petulant child. It was a stark contrast from the stone cold killer he'd seen a moment ago. 

Jespar tries to keep his hearty laugh to a minimum. "Okay, so you tried to change yourself for someone you love." He shrugs, "a thousand other fools have done it. You're far from the first." 

"It wasn't like that!" She snaps again. 

He can’t help but smile for how flustered she is. It's far from the first time someone has told him to screw himself for a too-accurate assessment. "So if it wasn't like that, then how was it? Because to the best of my knowledge, that's how the story usually goes." 

A small groan builds in her throat. "Okay, yeah. It wasn't immediate but...That's what it was at first." She shrugs, "we met and I immediately had butterflies in my stomach. But I did my best to ignore it, and after a while, I found myself wanting to be a better person when I was with her, if only to deserve her company." 

She scoffs, "before, I would steal the few pennies needy people in the Undercity needed to feed their families. I stabbed people for being slightly rude or inconsiderate of me, or even just accidentally getting in my way, and I'd leave them to die. I cheated people, rich and poor alike, out of thousands of pennies with psionic magic. And then I used that money to learn more psionics, more entropy. I spent others fortunes teaching myself magic so that I could…" she cringes, shaking her head in disgust. "I dunno. Be like the Lightborn I guess?

"I did and sold dust from time to time. I beat on beggars because no one was going to say I couldn't. I drank, and whored, and fought my way through the Undercity until people knew who I was on sight and got out of my way because they were afraid." She shrugs, "I killed a few people too." She points over her shoulder where they'd come from. "Not like them. Innocent people. For fun. Because I could." 

Her teeth tug at her bottom lip nervously and she looks ashamed for all she's admitting to. "I got to be so well known and hated that the Rhalâta even contacted me for some work." 

She stops talking, and Jespar can't help but comment, hoping to prompt her. "Sounds like you were a real piece of work." What else was he supposed to say?

But she just nods. 

Quiet stretches between them, and Jespar looks to see Jianna's brow furrowed in deep thought. She looks like she's spiraling into her past mistakes. He asks, hoping he can pull her out of it. "So, what changed?"

Coming out of herself with a start, she clears her throat. "I would do all of these things, and then I'd go to the temple to work with the Order, and I'd see her every time. We worked together a lot and we'd become really close. We were friends by that point, but I started avoiding her in our down time because I was having trouble facing her. She was just so fucking _good_ , and I wasn't. I didn't deserve to be near her or talk to her, have her confide in me. I didn't deserve her trust, her admiration." She scoffs, "she actually fucking admired me because she thought I was some force for good" She shakes her head. "I never corrected her. She saw what she wanted and I let her. I guess in a way, She saw what I wanted to be when I was with her."

Jianna sighs, "It started out as small things here and there." 

She shrugs. "I didn't rob well-off people I passed on the road. I started giving money to every beggar I met on the street instead of beating the life out of them. I hunted bandits and fought the dust trade. I started giving money to people I'd hurt or their families. I learned alchemy and light magic instead of psionics or entropy so that I could help fleshmaggot sufferers in the Undercity. I offered healing at every little village or farm I passed. I even started working with the Apothecarii, gathering herbs when I was out, giving them coin enough that I went hungry a few times just to make sure they had what they needed." She looks at the sky, her eyes following a bird as it circles overhead. "None of it ever felt like enough. But... then…" she trails off, closing her eyes, an almost anguished expression tugging at her face. 

Jianna takes a deep breath and starts again. "And then… there was this kid in this town called Silvergrove and I…" Tears start to leak from her eyes and she stops as her breath hitches in her throat. "I got to know him and he was _so_ sweet and gentle and kind and _lonely_." Jianna shakes her head, "he didn't want to hurt anyone. He had the power to be a monster and to get back at life and everyone who had ever wronged him." She sniffles and gives her face a rough swipe with her sleeve, "but he just wanted a friend. Wanted to be happy." She stoops into a ball there in the road doing her best to hold herself together. 

Jespar watches her, not sure what he should do. He didn't realize how deeply the question would affect her. Or the demons she could possibly be hiding.

She wraps her arms around her body and a strangled sob comes before she whispers, "and then he died… because I took the thing that gave him that power. The thing that was keeping him alive." She shakes her head, a humorless laugh falling bitterly from her mouth. "I killed a whole damn town for Tealor _fucking_ Arantheal." 

What in the hell was she doing for the Grand Master of the Order? Jespar knew they were corrupt, but hiring someone for that kind of mass murder? What was the point?

She sighs, her foot absently scuffing the dirt as she crouches there. She says quietly, "and then I watched you die…" Jianna shakes her head, "thank the gods you were brought back, or I'd have probably thrown myself from the Temple's overlook." She forces another bitter laugh. "After that, the girl, Calia, and I learned exactly what happened to make her an orphan and…" she shakes her head. "After that, those things changed me. If I didn't before, I knew for sure that I could never go back to the person I was." 

Her head slowly lifts to look up at him standing over her. There's a wretched look on her face like she's begging for his ire. But he can't feel anything but a mixture of sympathy and fear for her. 

She sounds tired now. "I went on my own and just helped people for a while after that. I tried to do my best to make the world a little better than I found it." She suddenly shoots a withering glare at him, "and before you start your thing about heroes and how we only act because we want to see ourselves in a certain light because we're all selfish assholes? Save it." 

Jianna shakes her head. "I don't think you're wrong. But I _know_ I'm a shitty person. I'm not doing anything because I want to see myself as good or special." She shakes her head again. Her voice sounds bitter as she mutters, "I just don't want to hurt people because I'm afraid anymore." 

For all that she said, Jespar has a thousand questions that he can't bring himself to ask. Not now at least.

What did she, of all people, have to be afraid of? What was she doing for the Order? What did she take from Silvergrove? How was she brought back from the dead? How in hell does Jespar die exactly? What kind of work did she do for the Rhalâta? 

And of course, is this lunatic really from the future?

He knows now isn't the time, but there's a lot more to Jianna than he'd realized. And hearing her so effortlessly relay it all back to him? 

They weren’t deeds you confided in strangers. 

Like altruism, vulnerability isn't something he excels at either. But he also knows he can't just let her words go without remark. She'd shared more than he expected, and it seemed like once she'd started, she couldn't stop herself until she was done. It's rare that people feel the need to defend themselves to him, and he isn't sure he can help. 

But he can at least diffuse the situation a little bit. 

After a moment, Jespar stoops in front of her and gently puts a hand on her shoulder. His tone is solemn enough that it even surprises himself. "Well, from the sound of it, you're back before you ever did any of those things." He's almost jealous as he says gently, "I think you've been given a chance to start over, and from what you've said," he shakes his head. "I don't think you'll waste it." 

He shrugs, "besides, I think you know me well enough to know that I wouldn't tear you down when you're already hurting yourself." She slowly nods, not quite meeting his eye. "I'm selfish, but I'm not heartless."

"Hmph," she grunts a hollow laugh. There's a weak but appreciative smile touching her face. "Your self-awareness is impeccable."

Jespar rolls his eyes, "come on." Putting his hands under her arms, he helps her back to her back to her feet. "Let's go deal with Yero so you can brag more about being from the future." He shoots her his most charming grin.

She actually laughs and shakes her head as she starts walking away from him. "Gods, you bastard Mercenary, shut up!" 

Following after her, he calls, "I think I prefer the term 'Treasure Hunter,' now." 

Jianna raises her middle finger over her shoulder in reply as she walks up the path toward Yero's house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tbh I wasn't exactly sure how to nicely wrap that angst train up properly, so the mood will probably continue into the next chapter a little bit :P 
> 
> But yeah, when I initially started playing, Jianna was an absolute shithead, and she was for a while. First meeting Calia was her turning point and getting to know her more she started to shift into a better person. 
> 
> I think when I started she was someone who would have chosen Brave New World without a thought. But everything that happened and how she grew and changed as things went on, I think Calia made her capable and even willing to pick Catharsis by the end. 
> 
> Jianna was my first character and when it came down to the choice I just sat there for a while and stared at them. I could feel her struggling in the back of my mind between who she was and who she'd become and I actually cried a little when it was over. 
> 
> I was proud of my baby bastard :' )
> 
> Anyway! 
> 
> What did you guys think? Do you have: 
> 
> Thoughts? Suggestions? Constructive criticism? _Destructive_ criticism? 
> 
> Let me know ^.^ 
> 
> Until next time, I'll see ya'll in the comments!
> 
> Next chapter is Yero's house, Jespar begins to believe, and it's Lashishi time!


	3. Bad Habits, Hard Truths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jianna has an identity crisis and scares Jespar before they pop over to the Aged Man for a chat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooooooooo this chapter is longer than the other two before it put together!
> 
> I feel like I can justify the fact that this chapter only ends a little beyond the border of the Suncoast by remembering the fact that it feels like it takes forever to leave it in the game too ;P
> 
> I know I said that we would be getting to Lishari in this one, but there was too much to cover here. I absolutely promise that she’s the next chapter! It’s going to be the first thing, I swear! I finally have a rough outline going for this story is my other excuse lol 
> 
> The outline demands it. 
> 
> It’s out of my hands. 
> 
> But, wow! This only took several months for me to finally do lol so the first part of this chapter is mostly about Jianna and better establishing her character and bit of her background before Enderal. It’s bits that are interspersed through the current events rather than a full on flashback. 
> 
> It’s split between Jianna in the first half and Jespar in the second though. Jespar is a really fun perspective to write from ^.^ 
> 
> Hopefully it isn’t boring to read. Idk how crazy you are for reading about other people’s OC’s :P I know it’s a lot of little details, but it’s those details about her that really made me fall in love with her and want to write this in the first place <3 so hopefully y'all enjoy it too!
> 
> Again, this chapter is fucking long. 
> 
> Buckle up.

Wading into the waves, Jespar stands on the shoreline next to Jianna's piled clothes with a skeptical eye. While she knows he doesn't necessarily believe her, he's willing to humor her seemingly prophetic advice. Still, he at least comforted her and gave her the benefit of the doubt for having begun to break down. 

It isn't much, but any progress is better than nothing. 

The water is biting cold and even in the afternoon sun, it seeps into her bones and makes her teeth chatter. Even on the southern coast, Enderal's ocean is a far cry from Nehrim's where she- where _Jianna_ swam in her youth. 

But, she'd also eaten regularly then too. 

This body as it is, is gangly, waifish, and starved. She tries not to think too bitterly about the one she'd taken for granted before she died. While Jianna had always been lean, the years before she died at sea had been some of the hungriest of her life. Even aboard the Morning Dew, her gums bled with the early signs of scurvy, and the stale loaves of bread they'd scavenged while the crew slept did little to sate her. 

Having the memory of not two, but _three_ returns from deaths under her belt now, it's strange. Something about the world feels… thinner. It's almost like she doesn't belong in it at all now. She's barely felt like she belongs anywhere since she washed up on that shoreline. Even Jianna, most of her adulthood spent begging on the streets of Ostian, playing her flute for spare pennies, and thieving when necessary to get by, felt a sense of belonging… of humanity.

Where once Jianna had simply felt like an outsider, she'd chalked it up first to being an outlander in a strange, new country. Then, when she'd met Arantheal, it shifted to being one burdened by destiny and the purpose of being an emissary. Even then, she felt important, yes, but she gained power and skill so rapidly, it was almost as if she wasn't real. 

Wasn't human. 

Just a pale imitation. 

A mannequin on an armorer's shop floor bearing the shape and trappings of the roughest of what humanity has to offer, but with none of the warmth or genuine emotion. In fact, since being in Enderal, the only time she's ever felt remotely… _human_ , was…

Calia’s smiling face flashes through her mind, and her lower jaw quivers, though this time it has nothing to do with the chill waves gently lapping at her waist. Calia makes her feel real, and worthy of human emotion, and contact. They're each broken in their own ways, but it's those breaks that seem to fit together just right. Like each jagged line of Jianna's ragged, world-weary mind, compliments and fits the contours of those same breaks in Calia. 

Even those breaks, she makes them feel whole and new again. Every moment spent with Calia is another opportunity to join humanity, to find her own small place where she fits in the world. 

Before her, Sirius had been Jianna's closest friend in the world for so long. He had saved her life from starvation, loneliness… and even the noose. 

Her hands trails up to touch the fresh scar tissue encircling her neck, and she winces as her fingertips make contact. The pain is still fresh, her nerves frayed where the rope had bitten into her flesh and nearly choked the life from her only a month before. 

How the High Ones created a form that so perfectly encapsulated the experience of healing from having nearly been strangled feels almost cruel. Even now, her throat is scratchy, her voice rasps at times, and drawing air through her fragile windpipe carries a small measure of pain. 

To think that she was almost hanged for a crime she hadn't actually committed was a cruel twist of fate. But then, it wasn't so uncommon for her kind to meet that end in Nehrim. And even as her vision speckled and began to darken, her eyes bulging while her body fought for air, she'd accepted her fate. In that moment, Jianna had accepted her death, even welcomed it. 

As her vision faded to black, she suddenly was able to drag air into her gasping lungs, savouring fresh deep lung-fulls of air that tasted of copper. There were screams, and stamping feet, and though the colors around her blurred and swirled as she came back from the brink, Jianna was aware of the familiar jostling feeling of being carried away. She'd recognized the voice in her ear that simultaneously spoke encouragement to breath, while cursing her to move her feet. 

Sirius never told her what he'd done to distract their captors, and she's never especially cared. She’d been free, and that was all that had mattered. Ironic then that their desperate flight from Nehrim to Enderal in hopes of life would kill them both. 

But even then, what Sirius did for Jianna, and what Calia had done for _her_? They didn't compare. Yes they were different, and without Sirius, Jianna wouldn't have lived long enough to drown off the shores of Enderal so that her Fleshless form could live. 

But for all the ways that Sirius saved the real Jianna's skin, Calia had saved her soul. 

Or at least she thinks so. 

When the Black Guardian finally told her _what_ she is, it threw everything into doubt. Her last moments of life, if they could even be called that, had been spent in disassociative realization. She'd told herself she wanted to save the world, save humanity from itself. 

But really? She only wanted to save Calia. 

It was the least she could do for her.

And now that she lives again and has a chance to truly sit with that knowledge of _what_ rather than _who_ she is, her place in the world only feels that much thinner. Who is this form of Jianna but an angry, murderous, selfish, power-hungry, glutton? It was all Jianna had ever been since she'd washed up on Enderal. 

Sure, she'd slowly changed and become something resembling a decent person, if only because of Calia. She'd shown her the value of restraint, of being _better_. But those impulses are still there, just below the surface. Every day, she had tried to wrangle her desires to steal _anything_ into generosity; to tame her need to kill those who disrespected her, as they'd disrespected and tortured Jianna before her death. 

She'd filled those first two or three months with wine, warm flesh, good food, and some dust now and then. She gained power for the sake of it. So that she might one day return to Nehrim and take her revenge on those who'd wronged her. And maybe, just maybe, replace the dead Lightborn as a single god over all Vyn. 

Then, there was the anger, the driving force behind it all. The one that fueled her impulses toward greed and violence. Even craved it. It had given her newfound power a direction in which to be harassed. And it was also the anger that she sought to quench with one vice or another, if only to achieve a few moments of peace. 

But it was finally the friendships she'd built with Calia, with Jespar, that had helped to soothe her base desires. It was Calia's love that had offered her a chance at humanity, and to truly feel as though she _belonged_ somewhere. 

The real Jianna had spent so many years trying to find her place, people she could count on, and a place to call home, her Fleshless imitation had filed that void with that consuming anger. She never thought she'd find that place in the world. And now that she's experienced that and lost it, all of it so cruelly sitting at her fingertips, but like a dream, just out of her reach, she now wonders who she is. 

With the absence of those things, is she the one who is so blinded by anger, she would make herself judge, jury, and executioner for the world? Or is she the one she's tried _so hard_ to be despite those impulses? Can she even be that person without the love, trust, and friendship that makes her want to be better in the first place? 

Because Jianna is trying to be better than she was. But it's hard. And trying to earn those things again, while having the fate of the world rest on her shoulders alone, can she even do it? Any of it? 

Jespar’s voice calls from shore. "You've been in there an awfully long time!" 

Her teeth chatter as her eyes scan the sand beneath the waves. She snaps back, "I-I'm lo-looking! It's be-been s-six m-m-months! I-I don-don't rememb-ber _exactly_ where-" her words catch in her throat as a dull glint of iron beneath the water catches her eye. "Hol-hold on!" 

With that, she takes a deep breath, and dives. The box is slightly deeper than she remembers, just beyond the extent of her height. Bubbles escape her mouth as she curses the frigid water that engulfs her. Her already frozen fingers grasp the lockbox and she heaves it ashore with weak arms that burn with exertion and icy needling numbness. 

Throwing the box, it rolls through the sand near Jespar, collecting a coating of tan particles that cling to its rusting surface. Jianna wades out of the water close behind it, her thin limbs trembling against her glacial bones. 

Throwing out a hand, Jespar catches her as she stumbles ashore. Letting go of his hand, she drops to her knees flexing her shaky fingers as flame trickles from her digits and coats her hands like a glove. Her teeth chatter as she mutters, "g-ge-get ba-b-b-back!"

Eyeing her hands warily, Jespar steps back, his own raised in a gesture of surrender. 

When he's clear, she releases the spell, a small whirlwind of flame encircling her body as she crouches on the shore. A gasp of relief trails out of her mouth as the feeling of warmth surrounds her. It vaguely reminds her of the hottest part of the day in the Powder Desert, the sun beating down overhead. But as cold as she is, this is pleasant by comparison, more a warm hug than an oppressive overcoat of heat. 

The chill quickly leaves her skin, and she breathes an even breath as the warmth seeps into her. Cutting off the spell, she pushes herself to her feet, flexing her fingers. “That’s better,” she sighs.

On the ground nearby, Jespar is fiddling with the lock on the strongbox, and after a moment it pops open. There’s a squeak of rusty hinges as he pulls the lid back, and he shoots her a wary look before reaching inside of it. While he flips through the slightly dampened pages of Yero’s diary, Jianna pulls on her clothes. 

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Jespar mutters as he skims various entries. He shoots her a look of surprise, “I’m starting to think you might not be so full of shit, after all.”

Rolling her eyes, she reaches into the box for the remaining object; the key to Yero’s tower in Ark. She wants her dagger back, and it had unfortunately been on her person when she’d destroyed the Beacon. “I’m taking this.”

He waves a hand dismissively as he continues skimming pages, “sure, sure.”

With a huff, she points up to the house on the ledge. “You can read later at the inn. There’s another book to pick up in front of the body of Yero’s companion before we move on. I’d like to reach Riverville before dark.”

"Uh huh." Jespar shoots her a glare and snaps the book closed, producing a _squish_ from the moistened pages. “Fine. Do you order all your friends around like this, or am I just _special_?" 

Pinching the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger, Jianna lets out a frustrated sigh. “For what it’s worth? I’m sorry. I’m just…” She scoffs a humorless laugh, “I’m _really_ stressed out right now.” 

Eyeing her, Jespar nods, a bitter twist to his lips. “I suppose it’s understandable.” His tone is curt, but she’s grateful he’s at least _trying_ to be diplomatic. “Let’s get going then.” 

Shaking her head, she walks to a nearby rock and sits down, her elbows resting on her knees as she drops her head into her hands. “You go. I’ll wait here.” Jianna stares down at the sand between her feet. “I just need a little time to myself for now.” 

“Fine by me.” She can almost hear the shrug in his voice as his shadow moves away from her periphery. 

As it’s gone she suddenly remembers what waits below. Looking back up, she calls after him. “Think you can handle a fire elemental on your own?” 

Whipping back, he looks at her with narrowed eyes. “Any other surprises you should warn me of?” 

Jianna shrugs, “there’s a Starling Lock. Make sure you have some sticks to do your workaround.” 

For a long moment he eyes her, clearly exasperated. Finally, he dryly mutters, “thanks,” as he turns to continue back toward the ruined house.

Reaching toward the ground, Jianna’s hand glows icy blue for a moment, and she gives a small twist before closing her fist and an ice elemental rises from the ground beside her. Though she can’t see them, she can feel it’s eyes on her as if waiting for a command. She waves after Jespar before dropping her head back into her hands, “go watch his back.” 

It stomps off as she closes her eyes, and in the distance she hears a yell of surprise as it reaches Jespar’s side. 

While he’s gone, Jianna does her best to collect her thoughts. 

There’s so much to do, and even knowing what’s coming, it’s still hard knowing that all of it rests on her shoulders. The Veiled Woman had left her little instruction beyond the knowledge of her own life, and the truths Jianna had already discovered for herself in her’s previously. Defeating an enemy that, while not necessarily omnipresent, can be anywhere at any given moment is difficult enough as is. 

But the difference is that, this time, she knows their game. She knows the Pattern now. 

It doesn’t make the task ahead _feel_ any easier, but there’s a security in that thought. If the High One’s relied on such a specifically tailored series of events, then perhaps that could be the key to their downfall? Relying on the predictability of a play they’d rehearsed hundreds, if not thousands of times before, improvising could prove a difficult task for them. 

If all the pieces had to fall in the correct places, then any simple alteration could render their efforts useless. If that were true, then a few disruptions could very well throw the balance of power in favor of humanity. If they could put the High One’s on the defensive and keep them reacting rather than pulling strings as the puppeteer, they could have a chance at defeating them once and for all. 

What was it that the Veiled Woman had told her? Killing a High One in one eventuality, killed that same one in _every_ eventuality? 

A sharp pain slices through her skull as thousands of images flash through her mind at once. They’re all a place she recognizes, a place she’s been. Red swirls of cloud-like energy pulse and arc like lightning through a seemingly endless void. There, a single platform hangs suspended in empty space. Hundreds of thousands of spectral figures stand in slightly different places. The Emperor and the Prophet, always killing the Betrayer as they attempt to destroy a High One in retaliation for a wrong committed decades before. 

All but one. 

Jianna’s hands shake as they hold her throbbing head, and even in her bleary vision she can make out droplets of red dotting the sand between her boots. 

The memory of her second brush with death plays over again, as she and Tealor watch, seemingly paralyzed by a force beyond their control; a force Jianna knows now as a magic only capable of the Veiled Woman. Just beyond their reach, Yuslan destroys himself, chunks of meat flying in all directions as his magic ends the helpless essence of the High One before them. Even in her memory, she can recall the force that ripped through her chest, shattering bone, squeezing her lungs, and crushing her fragile body. 

From somewhere beyond that place, a small, satisfied laugh echoes into a dark void as a string of light between hundreds of thousands of threads that stretch into infinity, blinks out. Beyond it, she can see the glimmer of hundreds more such lights stretching back and back into darkness, each one a straight line, a rhythmic beat, evenly spaced and predictable in an otherwise chaotic sea of jagged unknowability. 

Eyes flickering open, Jianna breathes deep lungfuls of air as the pain subsides. Her heart still hammers in her chest and her mind struggles to recall even a one-hundredth of the uncountable number of eventualities she’d just witnessed from the Veiled Woman’s memories. 

But if what she saw is true, then regardless of how many eventualities there are, a single High One is composed of those countless beings who are consumed in their creation. 

Even with that knowledge, Jianna still finds herself asking the question; where does she begin? If the most recently created High One of the last cycle was destroyed, then where is it that they need to acquire the essence of a different one? Could a place so old even still exist on Vyn? If the City of A Thousand Floods were buried so deeply and lost to obscurity, what hope did they have of recovering the location of the one that came before, or even further in the infinite cycles past?

What the Veiled Woman asked seems too much, and far above Jianna’s capabilities. For every detail she knows, there feels to be ten more unknowns beyond it. 

She stares down at the droplets of blood in the sand, new ones joining the old in a quickly slowing succession as they mingle with the fine grit of the quiet beach. She’s only aware of how much time has passed, her gaze locked on the ground between her legs while her mind races, when Jespar’s voice shakes her back to the present moment. 

“Your ice elemental helped. Thanks.” His voice is subdued, a small thread of concern below the surface in an unspoken question. 

For all that the time alone helped Jianna to gather realizations of what she is to do, it only scattered her certainty of the path forward all the more. 

"Are you alright?" The cautious concern is still there in his voice. 

She nods, her voice low. "As okay as I can be." Jianna shrugs as she rises to her feet. "We should get going to Riverville." She looks on the horizon at the sun and sees the day already half gone. "It'll be dark soon." 

He vaguely gestures to the pack on his back. "I have a couple of teleport scrolls for Riverville." 

"I thought I might answer more of your questions on the walk." She quirks an eyebrow back at him, though she knows the offer will be more than enough to catch his attention. 

Hesitating, he finally nods, and together they turn and retrace their steps in silence for a time until they return back to the main road. They run into a couple of more bandits, but a well placed arrow from her summoned bow between each of their eyes is enough to deter the rest of their friends. Jespar only seems to eye her all the more warily after. 

Finally he asks, “so. Six months in the future after you died, huh?” His eyes land on her for a moment before returning to scanning his side of the road for threats. “How’d you come back? In both senses, I mean.” 

Jianna scoffs a small laugh. “I don’t know if you’re ready to hear that part yet.” 

His voice is thick with skepticism. “Try me.” 

“Oka-y.” She clicks her tongue against the roof of her mouth. It takes her a moment to know where to begin. "Well, the easiest way to put it is that a figure akin to a god brought me back from death and sent me back to this moment to help avert the end of the world." She shrugs, amending her statement, "the, _current_ world, at least."

She can see him shoot her a blank glance from the corner of her eye. "So," he deadpans, "you're saying you're a self-important fool who thinks the gods have a plan for you?" 

"Not the gods." Jianna laughs, "not even a god, really." 

"Hmm." He nods as if in understanding. "A person who is something like a god, but not, has the power to not only bring you back to life, but also send you back in time?" 

"Mhmm," she hums. 

His tone is somehow dryer still as he asks, "to stop the end of the world?" 

"Yup!" She puts an extra pop on the P for emphasis.

Jespar chuckles. "And here I was ready to stop thinking of you as a lunatic." 

Jianna shrugs, "I told you I'd sound crazy back at camp." She shakes her head. "Nothing else I have to say is going to make you believe that any less." She keeps her eye on the road as she gestures to him. "But I _did_ show you how to find the strongbox and I knew what was going to be in the basement."

"I've been thinking about that." There's a measure of suspicion in his voice. "You're a psionicist. You admitted that I don’t know that I can trust you. So, how do I know that I didn't _already_ know those things, and you just read my mind and took the memory from me to make me trust you." 

"That…" She snorts, "is _ridiculously_ convoluted." 

He shoots her a glance. "But it _is_ possible." 

Before he can look away, Jianna catches his gaze with her own. Leaping from her mind like an arrow from a bow string, she imbues her voice with a compulsion. "Stop." 

Jespar stops mid stride and turns to face her. His eyes lock onto hers, his expression suddenly vacant. 

If he wants a demonstration, she’s willing to give it to him. If nothing else it will make her feel better about his pig headed attitude. 

She holds out her hand. "Give me your coin purse and your boots." 

Without hesitation, Jespar pulls his coin purse from where it hangs from his belt and kicks off his boots. He quickly shoves the purse into her hand and nudges the boots over before returning to standing stock still in front of her. 

"Now," she reaches and drags her fingers from the sides to the center of his forehead before making a motion as if plucking a loose string from a tunic. "Forget." Pulling the moment from his mind is as simple as nudging a pebble into a stream with her boot.

Holding her hand out, Jianna offers his coin purse to him as awareness returns to his blank expression.

Jespar shakes his head as though awakening from a dream. "What are…" He glances down at his bare feet, confusion written plain on his face. "How-?"

"You're right." She nods, "it's possible." Jianna shrugs, "but why the fuck would I do that?" 

For a long moment, he stares back at her, his lips slightly parted, though in awe or fear, Jianna isn't sure. Maybe both. 

Finally his voice croaks as he sits down in the dirt to put his boots back on. "I don't know." He won't meet her eye, and his voice is quiet. "Maybe you want my help to get into the Temple? Maybe you want to kill Old Arantheal." His voice is full of doubt as he mutters, “I don’t know.”

Laughing bitterly, Jianna nods. "Oh I intend to kill him before this is all over." She sighs, "but I don't need you to accomplish that." She points her finger into her sternum, "he _needs_ me. And I need that bastard's resources." She shrugs, looking away. "For now."

If there's one thing she knows, Tealor is an obstacle. His pious determination and belief in his own divine right to bring justice to the world nearly got everyone killed. The two of them cannot exist working toward the same goal when he isn't the one leading. Not with the purpose he was filled with when he was also made Fleshless, at least. His ego won't allow that. 

And maybe her’s won’t allow it either.

The look Jespar had given her though, the one he's still giving her, she realizes she's crossed a line with that demonstration. There's revulsion for the violation, anger for having robbed him, even briefly, of his will. And something too close to disgust for her admission of wanting to murder Arantheal. 

Jianna swallows hard. “Jespar I…” Seeing those things plain on his face, it hurts. Having earned his trust before, she didn’t realize how valuable it was to her until it was gone. It hurts like hell having him look at her and not know who she is, and trying to figure out how to bridge that gap is only the first of the god’s know _how many_ obstacles. 

Because without him, she isn't sure she can keep herself in check. He's one of only two lines she has to humanity, and she needs him so desperately to be sure she can keep it in hand.

“I’m sorry,” she croaks. “I shouldn’t have done that. I just-” she throws up her hands, feeling defeated as she fights back the tears she cant feel beading at the corners of her eyes. “I just don’t know what to do and I’m frustrated and I’m taking that out on you, and I’m sorry..” She smiles weakly, “I’m trying to be better. I really am.” 

Getting to his feet, he doesn’t meet her eye, and she can see him thinking hard about something. It takes everything in her to keep herself from dipping into his thoughts to find out what it is. 

He won’t notice her if she doesn’t want him to, but it’s a habit she is trying her best to break. Peering into other people’s minds, while a useful skill in certain circumstances, is addicting in it’s own way. 

The silence is killing her and she can't stop herself from continuing. "I know you're worried about being used as someone else's pawn." Jianna takes a shaky breath. "I get it. Better than you can possibly imagine." She shakes her head, "I just want to earn your trust, and that was the wrong way to make that point. I-" She shrugs, a second apology feeling like a useless gesture. But she isn't sure what else to say. "I'm sorry, Jespar."

Finally, his voice still quiet, he speaks to the ground somewhere behind her. "I want to believe you. I really do." He lets out a slow breath and his eyes finally flick to hers. "Like I said before. It's a lot to take in." He nods his head up the road toward Riverville, his expression still stoic. "Let's just keep walking." 

Before Jianna can answer, he turns and starts on the path again and she watches him go before following after. For a while, she trails behind, eyes flicking back and forth to either side of the road, silently praying that someone to hurt pops out of the bushes. She knows it isn't the best coping mechanism, and worse, it's one more thing that she feels shame for since meeting Calia. 

But it's easy to rationalize that, hurting, _killing_ the bandits on this road is a service to the people who live in the area. She would be keeping them safe by killing such scum, and they would probably even _thank_ her for it. But she knows where the impulse stems from, whether she would speak it aloud or not. 

Jianna is trying to be better. She really is. 

But it's hard. 

Still, she can't stop herself from hoping. And when a trio finally does try to jump them, she's ready. 

Even with only the rustling of the bushes, she knows the sound of boots moving through the brush; the glint of metal on an arrow-tip in hiding; the clumsy creak of old leather against dented, rusting metal plates. The recognition sets her blood alight, and she takes a shaky breath as a quiver of excitement runs through her. 

It's just in her nature, and the impulse is hard to control when she's lost everything that gave her reason to resist it. She's a shark that's caught the scent of blood in the water; she's Fleshless. This is what Jianna's been made for. 

They come from either side, just ahead of Jespar. Two bows and a sword, sneering for the bounty they believe themselves about to receive. But before they can speak, even as Jespar slows and his hands reach for his daggers, Jianna is faster. 

With a deep breath, she grasps the power granted her by the stones in her meditative visions, and her body is propelled forward in the blink of an eye. She flies past Jespar, past the bandits until she's behind them, and feels the cloak of invisibility settle around her. She's not sure when she drew it, but her dagger is already in her hand by the time she turns. The wrapped leather is comforting in her palm as she grips it tight.

Without hesitation, her left hand reaches for the right side of the jaw of the one nearest and grips it like a vice. The dagger rises in the same instant in the opposite hand. In her excitement, she forgets the reach of the bronze dagger’s hooked blade is longer than the one she’s used to and extends too far. She can feel the bite of the sharpened point as it pierces into her left forearm, but she doesn't care. And as the blade sinks deep into the throat and through soft flesh and cartilage alike, the spray of blood she's rewarded with eases any pain she may have felt before it rises.

Jianna is already moving before they fall, and two steps brings her to the next victim. 

She flips the dagger as she moves in a practiced motion that brings the blade-point sprouting from the bottom of her fist. She sweeps the blade out, and across her body, the blade entering the front of the bandits throat. With a grunt, she tears it clean through the back. Even in her emaciated state, the power that drives her Fleshless rage brings the dagger through their spine like the soft belly of a fattened noble. 

The third begins to turn their head as she approaches, and behind her, Jianna can hear the first body hit the dirt. But her stride doesn't even slow as she rips the dagger from the back of the second's neck. With another quick step, she lunges forward, the dagger flipping again to come from the top of her fist. Horror registers in the bandit's eyes, and they don't even see her as she moves, their surprise instead locked on the state of their allies. 

With a hard thrust, Jianna drives the point of the dagger through the bottom of their mouth. She wrenches it up, through their jaw and soft, yielding cheek before the blade exits through the temple. It ruins the eye, splitting the head open like a gourd, and the body falls at her feet with the other two.

It's over too quickly, and a part of her is left unsatisfied by the easy prey. But for the moment, it serves to ease some of her anxiety. Her upper lip quivers with bared teeth, and as the rush fades, blood still dripping from her weapon, she realizes she's grinning like a wolf. 

In front of her, Jespar stands with his daggers half-drawn, eyes wide, mouth hanging open. Again, surprise? Fear? She's not sure which. "By the sun," he whispers. His hands don't leave his daggers. 

She isn't as bad as she used to be. 

But still.

Jianna is trying to be better. 

Really. 

She is.

The look on Jespar's face helps to remind her of why she should try. 

But the ability to finally express a lifetime's worth of impotent rage, to unleash the tamped down fury of a life of torment; it's hard to deny herself. That the memories of that life don't belong to her only makes it all the worse. Knowing that all she is has only existed for six months, and that the burdens of a life now ended, are her own to bear. 

Even knowing the truth, that she isn't the person she pretends to be, the memories, the traumas, they all still _feel_ like hers. The pain, the fear, the rare senses of triumph and pride. They're in the things that keep her up at night, the stuff that fuels her nightmares; some of which are the same as before Enderal, others new. Much as she tries to disconnect herself from these things that aren't really hers, the clarity with which she recalls them all is enough to make her forget that she isn't _really_ Jianna. 

The pain of abandonment becoming loss, not only of a mother, but a sister as well. The sting of years of near daily abuses from a father who blamed her for their absence. The lack of catharsis purchased from his death. The dread of being ostracized, beaten, and of endless accusations placed on her head for nothing more than her blood. The constant gnawing hunger of near starvation of a decade on the streets of Ostian. 

And the peeling away of her sense of belonging from so many brushes and meetings with death up to this point. 

But there's also the memories that are truly _her's_. The ones that can't be taken from her. Of those precious moments of companionship with Jespar. Of the slow build of trust, love, and it's expression for and with Calia. 

It's those moments that she reaches for that help to put her grasp of humanity back into shaky, uncertain hands. 

It's hard, trying to be better. But it's those moments that make it possible. It's their memory that brings a wave of shame over her like a tidal wave for the joy with which she'd slaughtered the three at her feet. 

"You weren’t kidding." There's an awe in Jespar's voice that does nothing to belie the tension of his stance, his readiness to defend himself. His eyes are trained on her dagger, still drawn, still dripping. “You really _don’t_ need me, do you?”

Giving the blade a hard shake, a small spatter of blood speckles the ground where the pools of crimson surrounding the corpses have yet to reach. The motion makes Jespar flinch, the hand on his dagger drawing the blade with a rough scrape across the leather. 

Jianna bends down and catches a bit of tunic hanging out from the nearest body's armor. She wipes the blade clean, not able to meet his eye. Swallowing hard, she stands, her eyes locked on his boots. She has to make herself look up at him, despite what she knows she'll see there. 

He's yet to resheath his dagger. 

The fear on his face is easy to make out now, and seeing it there makes her nauseous. She'd seen him be a lot of things with her, but scared was never one. Seeing it now feels like a physical ache buried deep in her bones, and it makes her stomach turn. 

“No,” she shakes her head as she resheathes her dagger. “I do. I’ll always need someone to watch my back, to raise a mug with a tavern.” Jianna shrugs, “to trade stories late into the night over a pipe with. To be there when times are tough, either for me, or…” she shoots him a weak smile, “Or for you to have someone to take your frustration out on.” He doesn’t seem to react, but the dagger at least lowers a bit, and he moves, if slowly, to return it to it’s sheathe. “I need you for a lot of reasons Jespar. I care a lot for you. But I don’t need you for the things you can do for me. I just need you to be you.” 

Letting out a long breath, a look of resignation crosses his face, and he reaches for his brow, rubbing his fingers hard against his forehead. “You scare the shit out of me, you know that?” He shrugs, dropping his hand to his side. “I’m not going to say I trust you, because I don’t. But you seem determined as hell to try to help me and keep me alive, and that’s something I’ll always appreciate." 

Jespar looked past her up the road. "But if you pull that stunt with psionics again?" He gestures with his finger between the two of them. "You and me? This'll be done and I'll walk away. You can kill me if you like. Malphas knows I can't stop you after what I've seen here." He shakes his head. "But I refuse to be a slave to the whims of a madwomen, should that prove to be who you are." 

She nods. It takes everything in her to suppress a smile as she remembers an evening meal spent with a cynical treasure hunter, not that long ago."Of course. As the Wise Hermit says, 'seek bliss, avoid pain'." Does it count as manipulation if she's using his own words to sway him? Shit… probably. Oh well. She supposes that even considering the thought is a win in the right direction. "I understand, and I'd respect that decision."

A small flicker of surprise crosses his face, but it passes quickly, replaced with the steely gaze he'd regarded her with the moment before. "Good." He starts up the road toward her again, "in the meantime, you're going to answer more questions." 

Before he reaches her, she holds up a hand, and does her best to ignore the sting of the small flinch he gives in response. "Wait. Could I offer a pipe of peaceweed for the walk as a um…," she shrugs, giving a small, awkward laugh. "A peace offering?"

"Well," he nods, stopping a few feet from her. "I'd say yes, but I'm short a pipe. Lost the damn thing in the surf when a wave snuck up on me a couple of days ago." He looks a little sheepish for the admission. "I was planning on picking one up once I got back to Ark." 

"Oh, don't worry!" She smiles up at him as she kneels to summon her spectral chest. "I have a couple of spares for just such an occasion!" Looking down, her hands spread a few feet apart, the chest appears, the spell itself almost second nature by now. She's just thankful she started using it to keep an emergency stash of supplies in case she was ever captured or put in some equally helpless state. 

Of course how it followed her into this life is a question she would love answered, but isn’t sure she’ll find one. Maybe the items were transferred with her into her death? Most of the rest of herself felt intact in that glade, and the Veiled Woman had restored all but her physical aspects to this life as well. It seems that all other magic she held in her mind is ready to spring from her fingertips so… maybe this is just a lucky draw? 

She isn’t sure what else to call it. 

Opening the chest, she removes the mead crate of potions, the larger basket of assorted foods that, by some miracle, never seems to rot in the chest. But who was she to question magic? Another mead crate of assorted wines and brandies follows, along with her components pouch with a few spare alchemy supplies and sets it aside. Next comes a quiver stuffed full with Aeterna forged arrows, and another of the highest quality steel arrows money could buy. 

Jianna throws aside a large bag of gemstones, another of around fifty of those old crystal coins, and twenty _very_ full purses with a thousand pennies each. Next is a shallow chest of quills, inks, parchment, and other trinkets that sits at the next layer, taking up half of one side. 

"I know this is magic and all," she looks up to see Jespar eyeing the growing pile of items. "But how deep is this chest?" He glances at the body of the chest itself. "It isn't big enough to hold all this!" 

"It's dependent on my skill in mentalism. The greater my understanding, the deeper it is." Understanding is a generous word. Her mother and sister had been the spellcasters in her family and studied its intricacies together. She'd only ever grasped a few basics before giving it up. She hasn't bothered with it since… since it became easy. Since Enderal. 

Jianna sets aside thoughts of the past along with her bag of teleport scrolls. She silently curses herself for having only kept one to account for each teleport rune on the continent. But the chest _had_ only been for emergencies. This situation wasn't something she could have ever thought to account for. 

There’s a pouch of several spare lockpicks that she shoves into a pouch on her belt, and beneath it she begins pulling out her set of camping utensils. The pot, bowl, goblet, fork, and spoon, are all made of Starling metal, each one collected from one ruin or another. After that, she stands and takes a deep breath, cursing herself for putting the bulky barrels so far down into the chest. 

Reaching inside, she feels herself disappear into it past her diaphragm and pulls the first of three large barrels of black powder from inside. Once she’s stacked them, two at the base with the third on top, she glances at Jespar, who’s staring at her, arms crossed, with a bemused expression. She feels a little defensive as she grunts, “what?” 

He scoffs. “Why?” 

Looking sheepishly toward the ground, she shrugs. “You never know,” she mutters. “They’re…” If she’s being honest, she has no idea why she put them in, but it seemed a good idea at the time. “For just in case?” 

Jespar chuckles, shaking his head. “In case of _what_ , exactly?”

Her mouth opens to defend her choices, but no sound comes out as she realizes she doesn’t actually know. Glancing away, she turns back to the chest and continues rifling through as Jespar laughs. 

The bottom of the chest has come up considerably when she looks back in, the magic space no longer accommodating for the massive size of the barrels. Beneath where they’d sat, a couple of expensive sets of clothes are rumpled and heavily creased, and she removes them with a grimace. She isn’t sure of exactly how much, but she knows she paid several hundred pennies for both the dress and the intricately adorned robes. 

She only glances at the gold ingots that lay lining half of the bottom of the chest. Partially laying across the top of them is a solid gold statue of Irlanda, the base of which takes up nearly a quarter of the other half of the bottom of the chest. The remaining space at the bottom is made up of some spare soulgems, a couple of enchanted rings that had fallen to the bottom, another two amulets if similar circumstance, and a circlet she'd forgotten about. 

Jianna pockets the rings and amulets and roughly shoves the circlet under her cowl and onto her head. She winces as it pulls some of her hair out in it’s rough placement.

Finally, she spots the thing she’d been looking for. Tucked into the back right corner, just visible beneath the cluttered gems, is a small wooden box. It’s long enough to fit a smoking pipe, though more than wide enough for two, plus some spare peaceweed. She's about to reach for it when she spies a small, rolled scroll between the chest and the base of the statute that catches her attention. 

With an annoyed groan, she grabs it and unfurls the scroll, just to be sure. 

She can hear the forced disinterest in Jespar's voice as he asks, "what's that?" She can see him eyeing everything, especially the purses, and there's a hint of curiosity he can't hide. 

Rolling her eyes, she crushes the useless paper and tosses it in the bushes. "A worthless deed to a house in the Nobles Quarter that I no longer own." She blinks, suddenly confused. "Or… don't own _yet_?" She shakes her head and looks back into the chest. "This is weird," she mutters. 

" _You_ had a house in the Nobles Quarter?" Jespar doesn't even try to hide the disbelieving tone. 

She snaps back, "I stole a lot of money okay!" It's a fact that, while once it didn't bug her, now just leaves a bitter taste in her mouth. Brushing aside the gems with a rough swipe, she grabs the small box, grumbling, "probably better it's not mine anyway." The house was too big, too empty despite the furniture and expensive trappings she'd filled it with. It was lonely. Even the few times Calia and/or Jespar had joined her there, it never _really_ felt like home.

It barely even felt like hers. 

Opening the box, she passes Jespar one of the two pipes inside. Truthfully, she's always kept a spare for herself, and another for Jespar in case he'd lost his while they were off somewhere. Taking the other for herself, she passes the box to him to begin stuffing the pipe while she repacks the chest. 

It's a practiced routine by this point to unpack and repack the contents of it and it goes quickly enough. Jianna's done by the time Jespar hands her back the box and she quickly fills the bowl of her own pipe. Once she's done, she places it in a space she's left for it, and the chest fades away. 

Jianna extends a finger on her free hand and produces a small, flickering flame from the tip of the digit. She touches it to the packed peaceweed and takes a deep inhale as it lights. She offers the finger to Jespar out of habit as she puffs the pipe to life, and she can see him lean somewhat uncomfortably forward to touch the flame to his own pipe. When he's done and is similarly puffing on his own, Jianna releases the flame and it flickers out. 

"Thanks." Jespar raises the pipe with a small nod. Looking up the road he starts ahead again, and she falls in step beside him. 

With the distance he keeps between them, she can tell he's still afraid of, and probably more than a little mad at her. As much as it hurts to see, she knows she's earned it. They've far from gotten off on the right foot, and she should have known better given how well she knows Jespar. His trust was hard won enough the first time. "So? What do you want to know?" 

He's quiet for a moment, small puffs of smoke passing his lips. Finally he says, "I'm more than a little curious about that scar around your neck." He glances at her, eyebrow quirked. "Is that a part of your murderous, criminal past?" 

A bitter laugh carries a small cloud of white from Jianna's lungs and she shakes her head. "No. No, the worst of my deeds only came about after arriving on Enderal. This…" she touches her fingers lightly to the scar. Even the gentle brush sends a small jolt of pain up and down the frayed nerves of her neck, and her breath catches in her throat. She grunts softly for the pain. "This was a gift from my countryman in Nehrim. It was about a month and half ago, given for a crime I didn't _actually_ commit." 

Jespar nods in understanding. "I've heard that Aeterna are judged fairly harshly in that country. Were you just in the wrong place at the wrong time, then?" 

There’s a distance to her voice as she tries to disconnect herself from the memories that aren’t hers. “Usually people with mixed blood are okay, even if it’s Aeterna. But I’ve always had the look of one who was full blood at first glance. So I've always gotten the worst of it.” Taking another inhale from her pipe, she scoffs and sends the smoke out in a scattered haze. "And yeah. You could say that." 

Even though the memory isn't hers, she still remembers the helpless anger, the fear of being caught in a mob, of seeing the noose that was to be hers. Remembering the strain of her muscles against those who held her as she was strung up sends a quiver through her limbs, and she takes a shaky breath to try and steady herself. 

Thankfully, Jespar is quiet as she takes another long inhale from the pipe, and it helps to soothe her nerves some. "I uh… I was with a couple of friends, just passing through this little village called Waverock, a few days up the coast from Ostian." She sighs, "we were just performers. My friends, Sirius and Janos, they played the lute and the drum." She smiles, fondly remembering the long hours Jianna spent as a child practicing her instrument. "I played the flute." 

While her sister had shared a bond with their mother in magic, Jianna's with her was in music.

Realizing it’s one more thing she’s lost since waking again, she makes a note to pick up a new flute when she can. Even now, she still loves to play, and did often in her down times before the Beacon. 

Calia had sat and listened on more than one occasion in their quiet moments, sometimes insisting that Jianna play for her. Remembering the silent admiration of her rapt attention, the uncharacteristic slouch of her truly relaxed, the soft intensity of her steely gaze watching with a small smile as the candlelight flickered in her irises. No one has ever looked at her like that before, love so plainly written in someone’s features. It makes Jianna's heart ache to think of. 

Would that ever happen again? A small knot of sorrow grows in her chest for the uncertainty. 

"Hmm," Jespar hums through a puff of smoke. He actually sounds a little impressed. "An archer, a thief, a sinistrope, an arcanist, a fair alchemist, and a flautist?" He smiles, "my lady, is there _nothing_ you can't do?" 

He forgot a murderer. 

Still, there is something to be said for Jespar's charm and his ability to make her feel better in spite of herself. Jianna rolls her eyes, her lips tugging up in a small smile that she can't quite hide as she continues. "We traveled a bit, playing in different places for coin here and there. Between the three of us, it never went far enough to really fill our bellies." She shrugs, "but it was no different than being on our own in the streets of Ostian. That way though, we at least had the company of friends, freedom to travel, and a bit fun." 

Those times on the road with her friends, hungry as they might have been, they were some of the better ones that existed in Jianna's memories. 

“Anyways.” Taking another small inhale and releasing the smoke, she goes on. “We were in Waverock for a couple of days, and we played at the tavern for a few nights. We were planning on leaving when the coin began to dry up, which, it usually did after a week or so.” She shrugs, “but on the fourth day, I woke up to people pulling me from my bed and dragging me out into the street. They…” she tries to swallow the lump in her throat, reminding herself that it happened to _Jianna_ and not _her_. Not that the thought helps at all. It still feels enough like hers. “They were accusing me of cursing a kid in town. I guess he’d been showing signs of some wasting disease that’s usually fatal since the day we arrived.” 

Smoke trickles from the corners of Jespar’s mouth as he grimaces. He mutters, “by the Wise Hermit…” He looks at her, something like pity on his face, the fear no longer present. It’s like he’s really seeing her for the first time. “So they hung you? Just like that?” 

Nodding, she doesn’t quite meet his eye. Somehow, as bad as seeing his fear is, having his pity is worse. Jianna had never told Jespar so much about that day the first time around, and he’d never really asked. “I remember flailing, and my muscles starting to give out. My vision started to go, and my lungs were _screaming_. And then…” She shrugs. “There was this big boom and people were yelling. I don’t know what he did, but my friend, Sirius, the next thing I knew he was carrying me away from the town and into the woods.”

For a minute, they’re silent as they walk, each taking the occasional pull from their pipes. Finally, Jespar asks, “is that how you decided to come to Enderal, then?” 

Biting her lip as she nods, she sighs. “Yeah.” Jianna watches the ground in front of her as she walks. “They hunted us for a couple of days as we made our way back to Ostian. We barely stopped, slept an hour or two here and there.” She shrugs, “no idea what happened to Janos.” 

The worst part of it was that her flute had still been in her room when she’d been taken that morning. It had been her mother’s, and it was the only real possession she had left from her home before her father’s death. She always kept the flute hidden in her room when she was home or on her person when she was gone because she was afraid of what her father would do if he found her with it. Everything of her mother’s that he found her with, he took. When the cult of the Creator had come for him, she watched from the bushes as they locked him inside and burned the house, and all of her family’s belongings with it. 

That had been shortly after her sixteenth winter. She had that flute for another twelve until it was left in that fucking room. Even though it was _Jianna's_ and not her’s, she still misses it every day. 

“Once we got to Ostian, we laid low for a few days.” Another bitter laugh tumbles from her lips. “But then we spotted a wanted poster for the both of us. The fuckers accused us both of murdering the kid and stealing a horse to escape.” Jianna shakes her head, “they would have killed us if we were lucky, made us slaves if we weren’t. And Sirius, even being associated with an Aeterna wanted for a crime is seen as being corrupted by our ‘evil’.” She rolls her eyes. “So we snuck on a ship bound for Enderal, in hopes that we could find some measure of freedom.” 

The pity is still in Jespar’s voice as he says, “life has never given you an easy day, has it?” 

She shrugs, a fond smile touching her lips. “They haven’t been all bad. There are plenty of times with you and Calia that have more than made up for the hard days.”

Jespar shoots her an upturned brow in question, and, for a moment, she forgets that she isn’t with _her_ Jespar.

Jianna smiles around the stem of her pipe and a small amount of smoke leaks from the corners of her mouth. A snort of laughter brings up the smoke, and she stops, her hands on her knees as she coughs heavily. It’s hard on her fragile throat, but the memory is funnier than the pain is irritating. 

When she can breathe she gasps, “oh gods, do you remember when we were camping on our way to the Living Temple and I-” she breaks down in another fit of laughter before stopping long enough to continue. 

“I took first watch, and I ended up falling asleep? And when you woke me up, the fire was _completely_ gone!.” As she talks she’s gesticulating wildly. “We couldn’t see a damn thing! And then you muttered something about us being _surrounded_ , and all around us we could hear _something_ moving and we just-” tears are forming in the corner of her eyes as she snorts out another round of laughter. “We were so tense and jumpy, and then one of them got close and I _panicked_ and threw a _fireball_!”

Jianna wipes the tears from her eyes and laughs harder still until she can talk again. “I’ll never forget the look on your face as we spent most of the morning wiping half-cooked deer bits off of our gear!” 

He’d given her such a hard time about that night every time it was her turn to take a watch. 

Glancing at Jespar as she laughs, he’s smiling back at her with an amused expression. But there’s an absent recognition for the moment in his eyes that makes her remember. _This_ Jespar wasn’t there for that. 

The laughter dies on her lips as she remembers and she smiles sadly back at him. Tears are forming in her eyes again, though this time it has nothing to do with how hard she'd laughed. 

He nods, a softer look in his eyes than he’d regarded her with most of the morning. There's a quiet, reserved tone to his voice as he speaks. "I wish I did." There's a small smile on his lips as he gives her that sympathetic look. "It's been a long time since I've had someone I could share a laugh with like that." He takes a brief puff from his pipe before letting it out with a shrug. "Who knows? Maybe we'll be able to again." 

Looking away, Jianna pretends to scan her side of the road for threats, wiping the traitorous tears threatening to spill down her face as she does. When she looks back up the road, she nods, softly. “I’d like that.” 

Jespar only gives a small, “hmm,” of agreement. 

The road to Riverville is short from there, and the distance is passed in a companionable silence that, for the most part, feels more comfortable than it had in the earlier parts of the day. They puff their pipes until the peaceweed is burned down, and it’s about that time they finally arrive at the small seaside town as the sun is setting over the hills behind them, the sky painted in shades of orange and purple. 

After knocking the ash from the bowl, Jespar offers the pipe back to Jianna, but she waves it away. "Keep it. You need another one anyway." 

His eyebrows and shoulders both raise in a shrug. "Suit yourself. I appreciate it." He reaches to put the pipe into one of his pouches. "So, we should go to the inn and grab a bed while we can. It's a little more than a three day walk to…" Jespar scoffs with a small smile. "Well I guess you already know that." 

"Walk?" Jianna shoots him an upturned eyebrow. "Why wouldn't we just take… the…" she huffs. "Shit. Riverville's myrad is injured." 

Nodding, Jespar has that peculiar look like he did whenever she said something she shouldn't know. "Afraid so." 

Thinking bitterly of the single teleport scroll she has for Ark and stares over the eastern mountains they'll have to cross and into the dark sky beyond. She mutters, "I fucking hate that walk." With a heavy sigh she's about to head for the inn when her eyes widen as she remembers. "There's one on the Western Cliff!" 

Feeling almost giddy, she grins. "It's only most of a day's walk from Riverville!" She gives a relieved sigh to the sky above. "And we don't have to cross any _fucking_ mountains!"

"Huh," Jespar grunts. "I'd forgotten about that tower." He shrugs, "ordinarily I'd be wary of the route up the coast. I've heard stories of mad mages that hold that area, but…" he shoots her a glance. "With what I've seen from _you_ , I doubt they'll be a problem."

Feeling a bit of weight lifted from her shoulders, she waves the thought away. So excited about the prospect of a shortened walk, the thought barely registers as she hears herself say, "I'll just invisibly sneak in and slit their throats." She shrugs, "easy." 

Jespar eyes her with something like concern. "You know, it's unsettling to hear you say that so casually."

"Eh." Shrugging, she looks at him with a smile. "When you're good at something." The matter-of-fact way with which she says it only seems to deepen the look Jespar gives her. "I think I remember some wisps, but those are no problem. And then I'm pretty sure there's also some spiders over… by…" her eyes go wide again, and she gasps, remembering The manor on the cliff.

Jespar asks warily, "by what?" 

"Th-the Aged Man!" It had been so brief a meeting, she's nearly forgotten about him. But remembering him now, she knows she needs to speak with him while she's here. The things he'd told her the first time they met, once cryptic, now make perfect sense. 

And what he'd said about being an Observer… he'd called himself a _Fleshless_ Eye! 

His wording was so specific… Was he like Jianna? A survivor of a past Cycle? Another Emissary who'd survived the end of all they'd known? His living through multiple Cycles seems indicative of such in hindsight. 

Or… was it foresight now? 

Either way, the Veiled Woman was also an Emissary and seems to live without age. But where she seems infinite, far beyond her seemingly mortal trappings, the Aged Man is still connected to his humanity in some way, if only distantly. 

There's a sudden twinge in Jianna's skull that she knows. 

It's a familiar feeling, the Echo triggering. But the intensity with which the visions from the Veiled Woman come; it feels like the strike of a warhammer to the head. Jianna drops into a crouch as she feels them come and grips her temples tightly with her hands.

…

* * *

…

_Many cycles past, Gajus and his companion eye her warily._

_She speaks in her ever even tone. "You fear me, for you believe me another trick of the High Ones. But I assure you, I oppose them as you do."_

_She's offered them a chance at salvation from their doomed cycle. Already, the Empress moves to fill the Numinos as her city is invaded by the pawns of the High Ones._

_The Prophet growls, "no! We're so close! If we can get the Numinos and light the Beacon, we may_ still _-"_

 _Before he can continue, the Veiled Woman interrupts him. "You believe yourselves still capable of victory. While an admirable notion, it is a mistake made by those who have also thought themselves to be beyond the Pattern many,_ many _cycles before you." She shakes her head. "This one shall be no different than theirs, nor any after."_

 _The companion, Anya, steps forward, doubt written in her features, anger in her voice. "If the cycles are all doomed to repeat, then what would you have us_ do _?! Endlessly watch the world burn for eternity?"_

_"You believe the world to continue to be doomed despite my offer, for this is what I've said. And yet…" she holds her hands in front of her and an ornate box appears there in a swirl of shadow. "Should you take this Word of the Dead, and safeguard it through many cycles, there will be a time when one with full knowledge of you, of the Cycle, will come earlier than those before Her." She offers the box to them. "It is She whom I believe will break these endless Cycles, and defeat the High Ones once and for all."_

_In truth, though much of herself is lost to the endless void of infinite existence, her vanity remains. She wants it to be Jianna._ Needs _it to be. The rhythms on which the universe work_ demand _it._

_Or so she tells herself._

_Hesitantly accepting the box, the hope in the Prophets eyes seems to deflate. "How will this box help?"_

_"You wonder why this artifact of my own making will make the difference. This item is to be a true Numinos, one with the strength to contain, and banish the High Ones. It will replace their false orb into which humanity's hope has been placed countless cycles before." She returns her arms to their comfortable position, crossed her chest within her sleeves. "Many will come seeking it, ignorant of the powers with which they meddle. And when they are gone, it will find it's way back once more, time and again, until the time is at last right."_

_Staring down at the box in his hands, the Prophet asks, "why would you have us wait so many cycles? It seems a cruel fate."_

_The Veiled Woman nods in sympathy. "You wonder why you would be assigned to a life of centuries of uncertain length, believing it a punishment. But I too know the pain of life without end, and I promise you that there is purpose in this task, and an end granted. However, to earn this end, you must know the signs, every small beat of the wings of coming destruction so that you may recognize the importance of Her coming."_

_"But how can we survive so long?" Anya shakes her head in disbelief. "We're only human."_

_The Veiled Woman shakes her head. "You think your life spans too short to accomplish this purpose, and yet, it is only one of you that would age." She looks deep into the Prophet's eyes. "For you are Fleshless. An embodiment of a dead soul given the ability to accomplish their deepest desire in life; created by the High Ones to act as their tool to complete their cycle."_

_He laughs, "no. No! That's not…" Gajus scoffs. "I'm as much a person as she is!"_

_The Veiled Woman nods again. "You wish that I lie, and yet you know the truth. One you have often wondered yourself, but chosen to ignore because the alternative is terrifying." She shakes her head. "But you need not fear, for I will ensure both of your survival when her life is near completion. And when your appointed task is finally complete I will unmake your endless life, and return that of a human body in its prime to you both, that you may live together again." A bitter sadness works it's way through her. "For I too know the pain of what it is to watch your beloved whither and die before you."_

_Both are silent for a long moment as the sound of screaming is carried on the air throughout the city._

_"Gajus." Anya brings her hands to his arm as they look to one another. "It's a chance worth taking. Even if far in our future…" she hesitates for a moment. "A life together? The end of the High Ones?" She smiles sadly. "It's all we've dreamed of. No matter what happens, how long it takes?" She nods. "I believe in_ us _. In that dream."_

_Gajus stares into her eyes for a long while. But as the sound of coming invaders draws closer, he closes his eyes. Finally, he nods in reluctant acceptance to the Veiled Woman's offer as resignation to his cycle's fate takes hold._

…

* * *

...

_The Veiled Woman shows him magics which will carry their home and themselves to within a century of each cycle's downfall. Together, they watch the first pass, until his companion grows weak with age, and Anya is ridden to their bed._

_It's then that the Veiled Woman comes. She brings with her an enchanted sarcophagus in which to preserve her living remains. Placing his companion's withered body within, the Veiled Woman creates a sanctum for both Anya and the box beneath their abode, where they might be safe from prying eyes._

_Though Anya's body is but a husk of humanity, her mind, and all that she is, remains. Until their purpose should end, she lies slumbering deeply, often for multiple Cycles before Gajus disturbs her from her endless exhaustion._

…

* * *

...

_Cycles come and go._

_Ten? Twenty? _Thirty_?_

_Gajus no longer seems to count them as he watches, and he learns the tiniest intricacies of the Pattern._

_As he was bidden, he gives the Word of the Dead to all those who come seeking it, always receiving it again in the next jump into a future cycle. In this way, it's legend grows in each new iteration, and always the Veiled Woman sees that it finds its way back to him._

_He takes up morbid hobbies to pass the time. Each one he masters to the point of tedium before moving on to the next. But the one to which he always returns is woodworking in any form, for he was a carpenter in his life, and the familiarity ties him to who he was, and still is. Always, his works are reflective of the endless cycle in which he, like the Veiled Woman is too, trapped within._

_For it is the Cycle that is ever-present in his mind._

_Always they wait for the arrival of the one to whom the box is destined. The one who will arrive earlier than the rest, with knowledge far beyond what those who've come before Her have had._

…

* * *

...

Rocking forward on the balls of her feet as the vision comes to a close, Jianna sees the ground rising to meet her. Strong hands on her shoulders catch her before she hits and steady her as she takes deep, gasping breaths. 

When finally the pressure in her head subsides, Jespar helps her to her feet with concern written on his face. "That's the second time I've seen you collapse like that." His voice is grave, the concern seeming to turn to his own safety. "Is it something I should be worried about?" 

Shaking her head, the small amount of nausea Jianna feels fades. "No. It's…" she gives a weak chuckle. "It's just one more thing that you'll think I'm insane for." 

"Well," Jespar doesn't seem satisfied with the answer, but he accepts it. "We can talk about that later then. Because I swear I heard you say, 'The Aged Man' before you collapsed." He cocks an eyebrow in cynical disbelief for at least the dozenth time that day. "Are you talking about the Aged Man from the _song_?"

Pushing the image of the Veiled Woman's face, _Jianna's_ face, to the back of her mind, she looks across the river and toward the mountains where the southern road skirts the coast. She says, almost vacantly, "we _have_ to go that way. He lives up there."

"Right." His voice is dry, and he sounds exhausted. "Well, meeting you has made for a thoroughly tiring day, and I need to sleep in a good bed before we continue on your…" he trails off before scoffing with a roll of his eyes. "Your quest to stop the world from ending."

"You do that." She nods, barely registering his words. She needs an empty tome. Jianna needs to write down all she can remember from her previous attempt at stopping the Cycle. If she can piece together enough events, remember roughly their dates, she can begin to plan where to go from there. 

She doesn't expect that she'll sleep much, if at all tonight. 

As he begins to make his way to the inn, she calls after him. "Jespar?" 

He turns, his thinning patience evident in his expression. "Yes?"

"Do you have a blank book I could have?" She knows that he more than likely doesn't, but still. It doesn't hurt to ask. 

Giving her a queer look he shakes his head. "Uh- no. But you can probably check the merchant up the hill." He nods toward the marketplace. "I'm sure you can find what you need there." With that, he turns, throwing a hand over his shoulder in a parting wave. Just barely audible as he goes, Jianna hears him mutter, "Wise Hermit help me. I _need_ a strong drink."

Once Jianna acquires her book, a quill, and a bottle of ink, she retires to a table in the inn and sits, writing. Oblivious to the merriment around her, she sits focused, and fills nearly a third of the volume through the night. At some point she eats, though what, she isn't sure. She scribbles events, and how best to use, or thwart their coming. It's just a matter of changing the future, which is far simpler than expected when one knows what's coming. 

Of course it's planning for the unknown recourse of that same changed future that proves the challenge.

Eventually, she gets a couple hour's sleep, succumbing to her body's need to rest on top of her book before Jespar shakes her awake in the late morning. 

Several cups of strong tea help her prepare for the day to come.

…

* * *

...

It's only a couple of hours past midday when they reach the old manor on the hill. Jianna had done as she said she would and killed the wild mages without so much as a sound or flicker of a spell. 

Friendly as she tries to be, seeing her power and all she's capable of, Jespar can't help but be on guard around her. The speed with which she can go from a ray of sunshine, to a terrifying force of nature, and right back is not like anything he's seen. He's met his share of powerful mages in his travels, but nothing remotely like her has ever crossed his path. 

Still, for all the things about her that set him on edge, there's an authenticity to her, and a sense of genuine trust she has in him that gives him pause. And her stories of their supposed friendship, their travels, and of her own past? There are too many details that speak of insight into her character that most would keep private, and a knowledge of his that couldn't have come from anything less than a first-hand encounter. 

But when it comes right down to it, she's damn spooky. 

That's why, as she touches the head of the gargoyle at the iron gate, Jespar stands back with his arms crossed and watches. He can't help but eye her skeptically. 

She's made several bold claims since the dawn before, but even this one feels too much. 

The Aged Man? 

A month before, she was supposedly a simple, starving, flautist. Now she's a powerful archmage claiming to be here to stop the end of the world while spouting nonsense about fairytales and being from the future? Call him a fool, something he was doing plenty of already for following her this far, but he can't quite fight off the part of himself that actually _believes_ her. 

The life of a mercenary with no ties to anything like a home is a lonely one. Romantic as the notion of it is, there are days when he wants for any company that lasts further than the door of a rented room at an inn. It’s those days that he simultaneously misses Lysia, and hates himself, the most.

But smeone to call a real friend… that's not something he's had in a while. Something he's _allowed_ himself to have in a while, at least.

But for all Jianna's said, he finds himself struggling not to keep his guard up around her at times. The way she speaks like she knows him… there's a part of him that desperately wants to believe that there's someone in this world that he could confide in and share more than just a few rented hours, or a contract to be filled with. 

The stories she tells, the mirth in her voice as she relays them. The idea of it threatens to fill a hole in his life he hasn't realized was there until she started talking about it. And gods damn him, he keeps finding himself wanting to lean into it

Or _maybe_ he just _wants_ to believe her so badly because a small bit of childlike naivety still lives in him regardless of what he's seen in the world. Most of what she's said rings with twin airs of truth and myth, and he can't help but want to witness some measure of it.

Either way, he can't help but find himself _wanting_ to stick with her. 

Because if even half of what she's said is true… well… it would certainly make life _damn_ interesting. And that's a prospect in itself that he's drawn to.

A loud bell rings out as her hand touches the head, and for a time, nothing happens. 

The seconds drag by and he throws a glance over his shoulder back at the puppets that had been situated at the walk up to the manor. He isn't sure why, but they make him uncomfortable, and they tickle his memory with an inkling of familiarity he isn't quite able to touch. 

All he can say for certain is that he doesn't like them. 

Looking back to the gate, Jianna has her face to the bars, her hands clutching the iron rods almost as if she is trying to pull herself through. Under her breath he can hear her muttering, "come on… come on!" 

He clears his throat, "I told you this felt like a waste of time." She'd been delirious from a lack of sleep this morning after he'd found her passed out over a partially filled book of hastily scribbled notes. He really just wanted to leave.

Looking over her shoulder, she throws him a pursed expression that makes him bite back a small grunt of laughter. Ordinarily, he'd have been intimidated, but the red marks from where she'd pressed her face to the gate make her almost look a child. She opens her mouth to retort, but the creak of dry hinges catches her attention and she looks back at the house as the doors of the manor open. 

An unfriendly looking elderly man with wild grey tufts of hair forming a frizzy halo around his bare scalp exits, closing the doors behind him. Stepping across the yard, through the line of creepy puppets that flank either side of the walkway, and to the gate, he scowls at the pair of them the entire way. 

As he gets close, his gruff, haggard, voice growls, "to what does my master owe the pleasure of having these two scroungers on his doorstep?" 

For a reason he can't put his finger on, Jespar feels a deep need to apologize to this man for intruding. The impulse itself is incredibly odd considering the number of times he’s dragged his muddy boots across the sparkling marble floor of one rich prick or another. Before he can say a word though, Jianna speaks.

"Forgive me Mysir Gajus, I know we're about three weeks early, but I had to speak with you straight away." Her voice is grave in a way that Jespar has yet to hear. 

For a long moment, the elderly man eyes her, his expression having shifted to one of cautious interest. He mutters, "interesting. You're _very_ early." Even his voice seems smoother when he asks, "to what does this concern?"

"We…" she hesitates almost seeming to second-guess herself. "We've come at the behest of the Veiled Woman. The one she told you to wait for so many Cycles ago?" Jianna brings a hand flat against her sternum. "I'm finally here for the Word of the Dead." 

There is an immediate shift in the man's demeanor. His eyes widen as though in surprise and he seems to stiffen as his posture becomes straighter. His expression only lasts a moment before it becomes stoic. Without another word, he turns and walks to the nearby pull chain. 

Jespar hisses, "the Word of the Dead?" Just when he was starting to believe her, Jianna pulls something else crazy out of the air. "That's just a myth, isn't it?" 

She shakes her head without looking back at him. "It's real. He's got it. And we need it." There's a distant breathlessness to her voice as she says it. 

The conviction in her tone, her certainty, it almost makes him want to believe this too. And the man's reaction… he seemed to know what she spoke of. He even acted like he's been expecting her.

Shit… does this mean that everything she's said is _real_ , then?

The thought alone shallows his breath.

There's the sound of a mechanism activating somewhere within the thick stone walls and the gates swing open with a small squeak. Just beyond them, Gajus is gesturing for them to enter. "This way, please." 

Following behind Jianna, Jespar feels the old man's eyes on him as they pass beneath the stone archway. Once inside, he pulls the chain again and quickly steps ahead of them to lead them toward the house. Keeping his eyes locked on the manor ahead, Jespar does his best to ignore the puppets on either side that give him the willies. 

Once inside, the old man turns left and leads them down a long hall and into a large study with a glowing fireplace. Jespar can't help but bitterly think that this room alone is bigger than most people ever live in. The thought is only made all the more prominent by the austere furnishings. 

Why anyone needs a near empty room of this size is beyond him. 

When they are seated, Gajus eyes them critically for a moment as if sizing them up. Finally he asks, "how can I be sure you are who I've been waiting for." 

Jianna answers, "because I've lived this Cycle before. I've walked the Pattern, learned my nature." She nods to him. " _Our_ nature. And I've been revived to set it right and destroy our enemy."

"Hmm." He lets out an even breath, considering her words. " _Our_ nature?" Gajus raises a skeptical eyebrow. "Then you too are-"

She nods immediately. "A Fleshless Eye." 

Again, his eyes widen in surprise. But only for a moment. He replies softly, almost as if to himself. "A way I've referred to myself many times before." Finally he nods, the caution giving way to curiosity as he leans forward over his desk, supporting himself on his elbows. "And tell me. Which Emissary are you?"

"The Prophet." Jianna nods to him again. "Like you." 

Gajus sits back in his chair, nodding. He looks satisfied with the answer. "In all my years, I've yet to meet one who has already lived a Cycle and returned to repeat it." 

A bitter laugh comes from Jianna. "The work of the Veiled Woman. For all the puppets you create from wood, it seems she makes them of flesh." Jianna shrugs. "She pulls the strings of my life as well." 

Gajus laughs at that. It's like crunching gravel; almost as if he's forgotten how to make the sound. Finally the smile leaves his face and he looks to Jespar. "And who is this? Your companion?" 

Up till now, Jespar's been doing his best to keep quiet. He's never felt more out of place in a room. That the answers Jianna's given not only seem to make sense to him, but are shared in kind? It's baffling to say the least. 

Concerning as hell too. 

What does that even mean? The end of the world is really on it's way then? 

And what's all this talk of Cycles, Emissaries, and a Veiled Woman? Not to mention both think of themselves as some kind of Prophet?

At the old man's gaze, Jespar can't help but to sit up a little straighter in his chair. There's a commanding aura to the man that sets him on edge.

Jianna shakes her head. "A friend." 

Jespar can't help but scoff despite his nerves. "Friend is a generous term."

She shoots him a glare from the side of her face and hisses, "stop. Being. So. _Stubborn_."

"Ha!" Jespar laughs, almost forgetting who they are in company with. "You used psionics on me to make a point. I think I'm entitled to some stubbornness." 

She huffs, her nostril giving an annoyed tick. "I used it _because_ you were being stubborn!" Her hands raise in a gesture of exasperation from her lap. "Because you're a _dick_ when you're uncomfortable!"

"Me?" He jams a finger into his sternum, and leans toward her in his chair. "I'm not the one who slaughters roadside bandits like poultry to make myself feel better." 

Jianna's breath catches in her throat and her eyes lose their fire before she looks away, her expression tight. Looking back to their host, her tone is one of pained resignation as she softly replies. "A friend from a life I've yet to live." 

"You bicker like children." Gajus looks between them, huffing another gravely laugh. "You're both rather unpleasant from the sound of things." 

Feeling as though scolded by a parent, Jespar looks toward his lap and gives a small shrug in reluctant agreement. 

From the corner of his eye he can see Jianna do something similar. 

"Well," Gajus' tone shifts to an even one again. "Be that as it may, it would seem you-" he turns a pointed look to Jianna. "Are our only hope for a future without the High Ones." He looks between them before turning his gaze back on Jianna. "If you've already lived this Cycle, and I believe that you have, then that means that you've been in my house." 

Jianna nods hesitantly. "We have."

We?

Another laugh like gravel fills the room. "Given how unpleasant you both are, I can only assume that you came attempting to _steal_ the Word from me rather than asking like _most_ have." 

The accusation sends a small wince across her features before she hesitantly nods, her voice small. "Kind of."

"Well then." Gajus sits back in his chair with an amused expression and gestures to the room before folding his hands and laying them on his belly. "If you wouldn't mind, open the way to my sanctum and we shall retrieve it together."

Giving an awkward chuckle as she stands, Jianna only glances at Jespar for a second, her face hard to read. She walks around the room from the right side of the fireplace following the wall until she comes to the opposite side of it. As she walks by each bookcase, she slows, and touches a book on each for a moment before continuing to the next. 

It's hard to tell, but Jespar could swear each book began to glow a bit after they'd been touched. 

When she is on the fireplace's opposite side, Gajus stands and gestures for Jespar to follow. "Come."

Standing, he follows the pair to stand in front of the mantle, Jianna on his left and Jespar on the right; though he puts some space between himself and the old man. 

Gajus begins to reach for the chain on the wall, but stops and looks to Jespar. He chides, "well come on, boy. I won't bite!" He points to the floor next to himself. "Here." He nods to where Jespar stands. "Stay there and we'll see how nimble you are." 

He takes a couple of hesitant steps and stands a little too close to the man for his liking. For as uncomfortable as Jianna makes him, the power of the Old Man's presence has him wishing for her company. 

Hell, he'd almost like to hold her hand for the apprehension he feels just _being_ here. 

As he settles, Gajus reaches again for the chain and gives it a sharp tug. There's a sudden lurch beneath their feet and the floor drops almost a foot before it begins to slowly descend. 

Jespar sees now the space he'd been standing straddles the line between the platform and the floor of the study. Had he been standing there, he'd probably have pulled something for the way his legs would have splayed to either side. 

Gajus huffs. "That first bump is always a doozy." He explains, "started happening a few Cycles ago, and I'm not sure where the problem with the mechanism is." There's almost a nervous quality to his voice. From the corner of his eye, Jespar can see him tugging at the sleeve of his clothes, rubbing the fine fabric between his fingers.

When finally the descent ends, the platform moves forward, and comes to rest against a floor of stone level with it. Gajus steps off and into a tall antechamber with strangely placed railings, and an odd statue suspended from the ceiling. It glows softly in the dim light and there's a fluidity to it's surface that makes him think of water. 

And beneath it's shifting surface is… is that a _corpse_?

He and Jianna follow behind the old man and toward the far end of the room before he raises a hand over his shoulder. His voice sounds hesitant as he says, "please. Give me a moment." 

They stop, and together, watch as he steps toward the far railing, gripping it with tight hands. He leans forward over it and says softly, "Anya? Darling?"

For a moment there's silence, and then a small, tired voice fills the room. It sounds as though a woman has been roused from a deep slumber. " _Hmmm? Gajus. Why did you wake me…_?" The thought seems to trail off for a moment before she asks, a small amount of apprehension in her tone, " _are we there yet_?"

And just when Jespar had thought the situation couldn't get more unsettling, here he is. 

He glances at Jianna, but her focus is locked on the scene ahead of them, a solemn look, and something like sorrow behind the soft smile on her face.

"We…" Gajus takes an audibly shaky breath, and Jespar can hear a smile in his voice as he says, " _we are_." He gestures behind himself, "she's here, now, with me. The one for whom _She_ told us to wait." 

For as tired as the voice sounds, there's an excitement to it's next words. It gasps, though how, Jespar can't begin to imagine. " _Oh Gajus, I'm_ so _proud of you!_ " Her joy seems reserved as she says, " _I'm sorry you've had to go through this alone. All this time…_ " Her voice trails off before she continues quietly, something like guilt in her voice. " _I can hardly imagine how hard that must have been for you_." 

Gajus takes another shaky breath, a thickness to his voice that suggests tears held at bay. "It's all been worth it. To know that I will spend the rest of my days with you again has been comfort enough…" his breath hitches in his throat and Jespar can see an arm raise to his face for a moment. "We will hold one another again soon, my love." 

From beside Jespar, there's a stifled sniffle and as he looks to her, Jianna turns away, the sleeve of her robe pressed to her face.

The voice sighs in longing. " _I can hardly wait to see you again. To feel the touch of your skin on mine._ " There's a laughter to her voice as she adds, " _to feel your scratchy beard against my cheek once more._ " Her tone shifts to one of quiet awe. " _To feel the sun, the rain, once again._ " A weary sadness enters her tone now. " _I scarce remember the taste of an orange, now._ " She lets out a slow breath, though again, Jespar is unsure of how. " _But I am so tired now. I fear I must rest until that time, Gajus_."

"I know," he says softly. "Rest, love." He breathes deep. "I hope to see you in a day's time." There's a small sigh as he whispers, "a day will never have felt so long." 

A silence draws out in the room. The old man's arm raises again to his face, and it's several moments before Gajus turns back to them, composed once again. "I will show you to it." 

Jianna, her demeanor now stoic, nods and begins walking to meet him. Jespar follows behind, and when they are close enough, Gajus bends to touch a spot at the floor. Jespar can see a small damp spot on the cuff of his sleeve as he leans down to press what looks like a button set into the floor. 

There's a lurch beneath them, and a sound of grinding as stone rotates against stone before it comes free and begins to lower further into the ground. 

The first thing he notices is the large, arched windows ringing the top of the chamber. A soft light is diffused through their textured panes that shows signs of midday sun behind them. It's only a moment later that Jespar remembers how deep underground they've already come, and how deep they are still descending. 

He passes it off as magic easily enough. And at first, Jespar assumes they are being brought down by a mechanism similar to the first. A pretty standard series of secret doors all things considered, but nothing overly fantastic. But as the platform circles lower into the large, open, domed chamber, he realizes they are standing on a free-floating disc of stone driven by magic. 

The earlier notion of the windows is one thing, but it's the thought of being suspended on a small piece of stone that makes him feel nauseous. He shifts most of his weight to his foot nearest the center of the platform, his focus shifting to the wall above rather than below as a sense of vertigo builds. 

When finally the ground is in reach, Jespar actually looks around the chamber and stops in awe, his terror from a moment before, forgotten. 

Before them is a massive statue the likes of which Jespar cannot begin to guess the origin of. Softly undulating blue crystals sprout from the ground in large clusters, and tropical trees grow on either side of the short walk to a small altar. The walk itself is flanked by three stone braziers on either side, and thick vines twist and climb the tall walls of the whole of the chamber. 

There, at the base of the statute, surrounded by the shimmering glow of fireflies, sitting upon the altar is a squat, ornate chest of a unique design. 

The chest is lined with what looks like shadowsteel molded to every edge. It forms the housing for its locking mechanism, and curls in intricate designs across the face of the box. The strangest thing about it though, is that the whole thing seems carved from a single solid piece of wood. The finish is dark, perfect, and smooth, not a single imperfection visible to the eye. 

The whole sight is a breathtaking display of architecture. The environment itself is almost deceptive enough to make Jespar forget that he is several hundred feet below the earth and not in a small temple atop it.

Stepping from the platform, Gajus barely seems to be aware of the magnificent chamber as he approaches the chest. Jianna follows behind him, only glancing briefly around as though reminding herself of its design before she too, looks to the box in question. 

Jespar follows behind her as the old man gestures down to the chest. 

"Well," he looks almost bored with this exchange. "Here it is." 

" _This_ is the Word of the Dead?" The question slips out before Jespar realizes he's spoken.

Both sets of eyes turn to him and he suddenly feels like a child who has spoken out of turn. 

Gajus quirks an eyebrow. "Expecting something else?" 

"Well…" Jespar shrugs as the old man's eyes seem to bore into him. "I just expected something…" 

Jianna supplies, "flashier?" She smirks. "Not a _box_?" 

"Uh…" her question makes him feel a little less patronized than the old man's at least. "Well, yeah." He shrugs. "Feels a bit anticlimactic is all." 

She nods. "I felt the same way when I saw it." 

Gajus' voice is impatient as he gestures again to the chest. "As enjoyable as your commentary on the underwhelming design of an impossibly old and powerful artifact is, I would ask that you take it and go." He glances to the chamber from which they'd come. "I have other business to attend once you've left." 

"Of course." Jianna nods sheepishly, quickly crouching to grab the chest. She unceremoniously tucks it under her arm and turns back toward Jespar as she rises. 

While she's getting to her feet, Gajus huffs impatiently as his arm, wreathed in a deep purple glow, rises in an arc above his head. 

There's a swirling flash of purple and black, and in an instant, the next thing Jespar is aware of, is the warm touch of afternoon sun on his face, the feel of a light breeze tickling the hairs of his goatee. In front of him, through the iron bars of the front gate of the Aged Man's manor, Gajus regards them from the top step with a steely gaze. 

As he gives them a final nod of acknowledgement, a whirlwind of purple and black springs to life beside him before quickly dying away. From within where it had been, there stands the figure of a woman in black and grey robes, her cowl lifted over her head, face entirely veiled, save for her eyes. 

Beside him, Jespar can see Jianna's whole body tense as she locks eyes with the woman across the courtyard. For a long moment, the two seem transfixed by one another before the robed woman gives her a small nod, and turns to Gajus. 

He looks to Jianna, feeling a strange need to whisper as he asks, "is that-?" 

She nods before he finishes the question. "The Veiled Woman." Jianna's eyes don't leave her until she's disappeared from sight behind the closing of the manor's massive doors. 

If the sense of power Jespar felt from the Aged Man had been immense, it was nothing compared to what he'd sensed of the Veiled Woman. Even from so far away, it was comparable to what he'd imagine being stuck in a rowboat in the middle of a hurricane to be. There was an intensity to her arrival that seemed to pull the whole of the world's attention solely to her, and he's only become aware of it, of his insignificance in the face of her being, once she's gone. 

His voice is small with that revelation as he asks, "who _is_ she?"

Jianna looks him in the eye for a long moment before, with a small chuckle, she shrugs, her lips pulling up in a tight smirk. "She's me." 

Jespar blinks. 

Before he can react, Jianna turns and begins down the path they'd come and back toward the road. She calls over her shoulder as he stands in bewildered silence. "Come on! We have a myrad to catch!" 

Jespar places a second checkmark next to the word, ‘insane’. 

But even as he does, he begins to doubt that judgement as a sharp twang like the snapping of a lute string sounds behind him. When he turns, he only catches the last wisps of purple and black behind the iron gate as the manor vanishes from sight. 

Wise Hermit help him, he can feel the part of himself that believes her begin to grow exponentially larger.

A quiver of fear runs through him as he walks at a brisk pace to catch up to Jianna.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tah dah! 
> 
> So? Thoughts? Do you hate Jianna? Like her? Is she a properly multifaceted person, or does she feel too jumbled? 
> 
> Cause I'm going for conflicted work in progress :P 
> 
> I know I have a lot of my own worldbuilding going into this as well, but does it feel like it fits pretty well into the grand scheme of things? Do you hate it?? o.o Hopefully not, because there’s a fair bit more to come! 
> 
> One though that I feel is a little important? The distinction that, different from the other realities, the only one where the essence of a High One is actually destroyed, is the one in the game. Because... Like... If the essence of the most recent HO is always destroyed in the process, then HOW are there any of them to implement the Cycle in the first place??? 
> 
> If you have theories on that, lemme know.
> 
> Also, I know Jianna feels a little op, but I mean… she’s where I had her when I beat the game the first time lol maybe the ghostwalk into three rapid backstabs was a little much, but she’s based off of a lvl 52 killing machine so like… it fits?
> 
> What about the bit with the psionics though? Did that feel a little overdone or does it seem about right for what the school is described as being capable of? I know it isn’t exactly portrayed well in the spells you get to use for it, but some of the books in the game make psionics out to be like… one of the most terrifying schools of magic when it comes to how easily people can be controlled. Idk. You tell me. 
> 
> Oh yeah! And her spectral chest? I actually went back through and looked at it, because I had it stuffed full for the sake of rping her as being ridiculously overprepared/paranoid. Everything listed is what’s actually in there xD I just imagined her as being someone who, because she has the means, stockpiled a bunch of ‘just in case’ items for multiple scenarios from being captured to having enough money to buy her own ship should she need to flee the country :P And yes. There really ARE two spare pipes for both her and Jespar, and extra peaceweed in her chest lol 
> 
> Along with all the other shit. 
> 
> Including the three powder barrels xD 
> 
> Jespar’s “why?”, was basically me directing the question at myself lol because I have no fucking idea!
> 
> Anyway! That’s that ^.^ 
> 
> As for the next chapter? ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ that'll probably be sometime between 2 hours and eleven months :P
> 
> Next time; Flight now arriving in the Northern Heartland. Jianna meets Lishari, shows off powers, kills more people. Jespar watches, still horrified, but adjusting. And the duo makes it to the Temple and finally come face to face with the Pious Dickhead himself.


End file.
